


Queer Like Us

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternative therapies, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Friends to Lovers, Healing, M/M, Self-Discovery, Straddling Magical/Muggle worlds, Trans Character, cross-dressing, relationship building, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: Severus Snape keeps both feet firmly planted - one in the magical world, and one in the Muggle. He's a changed man, living a very different life, and might have gone on like this forever, perfectly content, had it not been for a vaguely familiar woman with real beetles for earrings who crossed his path one day at his favourite coffee shop and led him down the street to Harry Potter. A Severus-centric story about self-discovery, self-acceptance, and traveling new roads with both new and familiar faces.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Severus Snape, other original and canonical pairings
Comments: 69
Kudos: 403





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for dreamingjewel64 who won my services during this year's Fandom Trumps Hate auction. The story was a long time coming with the setbacks that the pandemic brought, both to m schedule and my creative energy, and I'm so happy to be able to tie it up at last and post it. I would like to thank dreamingjewel64 for challenging me to step beyond my comfort zone - the things I'm most familiar with - and explore new ideas and new characters. Thanks also to everyone who supports and supported the important work the Fandom Trumps Hate auction crew do. And finally, thanks to accioslash and badgerlady, two good friends and two excellent betas/proof-readers. You always prop me up, you obviously liked what I did here, and I send you a baker's dozen kudos for all your love and hard work. -ss

Severus Snape did not hide.

He’d learned to walk tall, face forward, taking in his surroundings. Awareness of self, of others, of where you were – he’d learned those things in his time away from England. A journey of any length began at one point and ended at another, but in between was opportunity to learn and experience even more.

Apparition was a waste of opportunity, then. He used it now only of necessity, in cases of true danger, or when his presence was urgently needed. It shortened the journey, cut off opportunity.

His friends and teachers in Brazil had marveled at his black clothing. _You look like a shadow, Severus Snape. Black is for pumas who move silently in the jungle._

He’d scoffed at first, because that was what he was, wasn’t it? A creature hiding in shadows. But he’d learned along the way, favouring green in the jungles, and earth colours, with touches of red and yellow and orange and purple in the beads around his neck and the feathers on the cord from his waist that held his herb pouch. His people didn’t go about naked, nor did he, though his trousers quickly gave way to the sarong-like skirts they preferred, and he went without a shirt as often as he wore one. It had been an adjustment coming back to London, lacing boots, pulling on trousers, dealing with buttons – such an adjustment that he’d developed a new aesthetic altogether, one that suited the Severus Snape he’d become with a nod to the man he’d been before the war.

That man had been deconstructed and reconstructed in the four years he’d spent away, a student once again, immersed with a magical tribe in Brazil, one whose name he had waited long to learn - for they referred to themselves only as _the people_. He’d spent the year after the war rotting away intellectually and physically in his Spinner’s End hovel, his ties to the wizarding world tenuous, ignoring overtures from Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall and even Harry Potter. He wasn’t their hero, he didn’t need their pity, and he sure as hell was never setting foot in Hogwarts again.

Period.

His old colleague Aurora Sinistra, however, had simply refused to let him shut the door on their friendship.

It was she, in the end, who’d introduced him to her friend Rupert Smallwood while he was visiting from Canada. Smallwood was an alternative medicines healer, working with wizards and Muggles alike. His connections led Severus to _the people_ and Aurora happily took over the job of caring for Spinner’s End when Severus finally made up his mind and left with Smallwood for Brazil.

He’d sell the home when he returned, and move on from his past for good.

He hadn’t planned on staying any longer than a few months with Smallwood, but Smallwood returned to Canada and Severus stayed on. Four years passed before he returned home and in the end, he questioned whether even four years was long enough to understand.

Long enough to heal.

Brazil seemed a million miles and half a lifetime away as he looked out the London shop window at the passersby, then glanced down at the album on top of the stack he’d selected, finally replacing it with some reluctance. No – this one wasn’t rare enough to accept a copy in less than perfect condition. 

“I’ll drop you a text if I get a nicer one in, Severus,” said Edwin – the shop owner –as Severus paid for the three albums he’d kept. He handed Severus his purchases. “You sure like the crooners, don’t you?”

Witches of Molly Weasley’s age like the crooners, Severus thought, knowing he’d double his money on this one at _Leftovers_ , the resale shop in Diagon Alley. The wizarding world had enjoyed years of political and financial stability since the end of the war, and wasn’t he fortunate that magical folk had enough spare galleons to spend on frivolities such as Muggle record albums?

A stable wizarding economy was good for other business too – specifically, the Wolfsbane potion the Ministry provided free of charge to all the witches and wizards bitten by Greyback and his pack. It was a lucrative contract, funded in part by one of the philanthropic organizations that had arisen after the war. 

He ducked into the coffee shop two doors down and shrugged off his jacket as he made himself comfortable in his favourite booth. The jacket clinked as the clay beads fell against the wooden bench. He’d tied the cord to the buttonhole of the breast pocket and added the colours of the jungle to the blacks and greys and browns of early twenty-first century London. He allowed those colours, needed them, in fact, though the feathers he’d chosen had been muted greys and browns and whites. They fit in and stood out at the same time.

Much as he did.

He disliked worn clothing, or too large clothing, or damaged clothing – collateral damage of a childhood of poverty – though he didn’t mind standing out while blending in. But he’d taken to painting his nails black like Aurora’s, as she’d painted them once for him after they’d shared a bottle or two of wine soon after his return from South America, and he’d woken up the next morning and decided he’d leave them for a day, and had eventually brewed up his own nail varnish variation and now sold it in his shop to the kind of Muggles who were delighted to find such a treasure trove of variations on basic black.

He wore his hair long, longer than he had as a professor, sometimes loose and sometimes plaited, and bound up in a knot at the nape of his neck when he brewed. 

The beauty of his life – and wasn’t it something that he could say that without spitting? That there was beauty in his life? – was that he could not only move in both worlds, magical and Muggle, but prosper in each, be _happy_ in each. He’d come back from South America a different man and had reforged his life slowly, building it around the happier touchstones of his past, coloured by all he had leaned and become in his hiatus.

He stirred his coffee, then reached into his carrier bag and extracted a manila folder and a stack of newspapers– several editions of the Muggle-safe version of _The Daily Prophet_.

It was Tuesday, the second day of his weekend, and he devoted most Tuesdays to perusing the local vinyl shops, drinking too much coffee, and catching up on wizarding news. He might work in Muggle London, and sell his wares to Muggle clients, but the majority of his income came from the magical side of his business and it behooved him to stay abreast of the goings on there. That the papers were more society news and sports these days did not concern him. Politics in the wizarding world were even-keeled in this epoch of peace and prosperity, seventeen years after the war to end all wars. He made it his business to know all there was to know about the Minister of Magic, his or her underlings, the heads of the major departments and the up-and-coming stars. Most of those last had once been his students, after all.

An even-keeled Ministry in charge of a wizarding world that changed ever so slowly was good for business. Business that offered something widely sought but not widely available in the traditional wizarding world, that is.

Who would ever have thought that the resurgence of vinyl records would provide him with both income and peace of mind?

Severus quickly paged through Wednesday and Thursday’s papers. There was almost nothing of note save an advertised weekend sale at Slug & Jiggers promising huge discounts on fresh ingredients nearing the end of their usefulness. Severus sighed – there was a reason he didn’t deal with that particular shop. Friday’s _Prophet_ was more interesting. A paparazzi-style photograph of Harry Potter and two children at Fortescue’s. Potter’s name popped up in the paper from time to time, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a photo.

This one clearly showed Potter sitting opposite the children at one of the garden tables, holding a very plain single-scoop vanilla cone. The children were facing away from the camera – and it was difficult to determine their genders, much less their parentage. 

It seemed that whenever Harry Potter appeared publicly anywhere in the wizarding world – from Diagon Alley to Hogsmeade to St. Mungo’s – he had a child in tow. Yet he’d never married, and certainly didn’t have children of his own. Severus was certain news of that magnitude would have been featured prominently in _The Prophet_ , knocking something as trivial as the return of Voldemort to page two. He didn’t even know what Potter did for a living. The only thing the paper ever noted was that he was a philanthropist and supported children’s causes. Severus would have known if Potter had taken up one of the logical careers – Hogwarts staff, professional Quidditch player, Auror. Had Potter gone down one of those expected routes, his life would have been plastered on the front page of the paper.

But Potter eating ice cream could only hold Severus’ interest so long. Several pages in he found a story on another of his former students, also from Potter’s year. Blaise Zabini and his wife of twelve years were divorcing. It wasn’t the sort of news Severus was looking for, but he filed it away nonetheless. He’d seen Blaise Zabini recently – at a Muggle bar within walking distance of the Leaky Cauldron. They hadn’t reconnected or even struck up a conversation – nothing more than a quick nod of recognition.

A man didn’t spend an evening at a Muggle bar dressed as a woman because he wanted to reconnect with his past.

Satisfied at last that the wizarding world had successfully moved through another week without being discovered by Muggles or self-imploding, he closed the final paper and opened the manila folder.

In the four years he’d spent living with the magical Amazonian tribe, Severus had been apprenticed to a healer. Yet he’d spent two years learning to heal himself before he was allowed to learn the lore of his master. It wasn’t the damage inflicted by Nagini that he had to focus on most, but the damage left by the baggage he’d carried his entire life. His inability to trust. The cruelty he’d suffered that he’d passed on, in turn. The choices he’d made that led him to Voldemort, and then to Dumbledore. And despite the weight of it all, there had been no attempts to delve into his past or to forage deep within his psyche. Instead, he’d been given a fair share of responsibilities, a blessed lack of distractions and all the time in the world.

And when he left his friends – his people – four years later, the baggage may have still been there – even the magic of the rain forest couldn’t erase the scars inflicted by his childhood and by his masters – but the load was lighter, or he’d learned to carry it better, to distribute the weight more evenly. He’d come back to a different London, a London more alive with possibilities, teeming with people he’d have overlooked in the past, judged insignificant.

Severus took out a Muggle pen from the carrier bag and studied the list he’d been keeping on the inside cover of the folder. 

_Pepperup_

_Wit Sharpening_

_Sober-up_

_Pain Relief_

_Draught of Peace_

_Dreamless Sleep_

The folder held a single sheet of paper for each, most of them filled margin to margin with lists of ingredients, notes and comments all written in his spiky, crowded handwriting. Each of these formulas so ordinary in the magical world yet so elusive for Muggles seeking a natural solution without side effects.

He’d been selling his Muggle Pepperup and Wit Sharpening mixtures for five years and could hardly keep them on the shelves. He’d perfected Sober-up the year before and had just released his pain relief inhalant, targeted at migraine sufferers.

Did he really need to move forward with number five?

It was tricky as a potion, imbued with more magic than any of the others, and as an inhalant for Muggles, sprinkled over steaming water then breathed in as steaming vapor, it would have to deliver on the strength of the herbs alone. Mind clearing and not mind altering. Relaxing without the soporific effects of Muggle drugs. 

He tapped the pen against the paper and stared out the window idly. Each of his inhalant therapies had required meticulous research and months of trial and error to perfect the formula. The right ingredients in the right quantities, prepared the right way, added to water of a specific temperature, all without any magic other than what each ingredient naturally offered. Grinding a seed too coarsely or overheating the water might nullify its healing properties. 

He sighed. Had he gone far enough already? Was a Muggle concoction akin to the Draught of Peace even possible?

The sudden appearance of a woman outside the window startled him from his thoughts. He hadn’t seen her approach, but she must have seen him through the window because she was standing just outside on the pavement, waving at him. He was certain he had known her at one time – a student, most likely, given her age. She was blonde, at least twenty years younger than he, and appeared to be talking to him as her lips were moving.

He watched her curiously for a moment, then beckoned for her to come inside. She brightened and waved goodbye before setting off for the door.

The name came to him before she sat down – Lovegood. Older, and if outward appearances were to be believed, exactly as he might have imagined she would be in her mid-thirties. She slid into the booth across from him a moment later, settling in with an oversized handbag and smiling at him brightly.

“Professor Snape – what a relief to find you! I volunteered to help Harry set up this afternoon, but I can’t find the shop. I’m horrid with directions and he warned me not to Apparate.” She dug in her handbag and he watched as her earrings swung to and fro – were those real beetles suspended from her ears?

“Miss Lovegood – ”

“Luna – please.” She stopped digging a moment to consider him. “And you’re not Professor Snape anymore, are you? What would you like me to call you?”

“Severus will do,” he replied, and she happily went back to digging around in her bag, extracting at last a scrap of parchment, which she passed across the table to him.

It was a London address, only a block or two away, and not too far from his own place of business. 

“Do you know where this is?” she asked him earnestly. “Harry went over the directions with me twice but somehow I ended up here.” She studied him curiously, then smiled. “You’ve settled into yourself, Severus. You’re content.”

It was the strangest of comments coming from a former student who had certainly never known him well, even more strange from one who’d suffered so much during that final year. But he took it at face value, as he’d learned during his recovery. “I have,” he answered. “And I am.” He considered the address again and made a decision. “And yes, I know where this is. I’ll take you.”

“Thank you,” she said. Her odd gaze followed him as he packed up his newspapers and documents. “Harry won’t mind seeing you. He’s always liked you, you know.”

Severus laughed. “Not always,” he said. “And there was a time I didn’t like him much either.” He stood and shouldered his bag, wincing a bit as he did so – that shoulder, just below the bite that nearly killed him, still troubled him all these years later. “But I expect neither of us liked ourselves too much back in those days. Let’s give it another go, shall we?”

She stood in a swirl of colourful skirt, an interesting mix of Sybil Trelawney and the festive wear of the ceremonial dancers across the sea in Brazil. “It’s a Muggle shop,” she advised him as they walked out into the humid day. “You might like his friends – they’re queer like us.” They stopped at a corner to wait for the traffic to clear, and she looked around curiously. “It’s so different here, isn’t it?” she asked. “From Hogsmeade.”

She was keeping his brain pleasantly hopping – but nothing she had said unsettled him. Queer like us. Was he part of that _us_ or was she referring to herself and Potter? He’d find out soon enough.

“No, London isn’t much like Hogsmeade,” he answered neutrally. “Do you spend most of your time there?”

“When I’m not traveling with Daddy,” she answered. “But Daddy and I don’t travel to busy places.” She crossed the street beside him, still talking. “My wife and I live in Hogsmeade – she runs the flower shop.”

Severus knew that shop – it was the only one of its kind in Hogsmeade and offered a good selection of rare herbs that were always of excellent quality. Zola, the witch who ran the shop, was a Ravenclaw who’d been a year or two ahead of him at Hogwarts. Quite the age difference, then, but he doubted such a thing would deter Luna Lovegood.

“It’s a fine shop,” he said. He touched her arm. “Up here – one more block.”

A few moments later they were standing in front of a blue door on a narrow brick wall squeezed between an Indian restaurant and a dry cleaner. 

“This is it! Harry said to look for the blue door!” Luna exclaimed. 

There were no windows and no markings of any kind, save the numbers 333 above the door. Luna pushed it open without knocking, revealing a small waiting area no more than ten feet wide with a corridor leading back. The shop itself would have to be at the end of the corridor, tucked behind the dry cleaners.

The door behind them had barely closed when someone called out from the back.

“Is that you, Luna?”

“Hullo, Harry!” she answered, taking Severus’ arm and tugging him along with her. “I’ve brought Severus.”

“You’ve brought who?”

Potter appeared at the end of the corridor and Luna hurried forward to greet him.

“Severus, Harry. From Hogwarts,” she answered as she hugged Harry. “I found him in a coffee shop. He helped me find you.”

Severus stood where Luna had left him, waiting for Harry to acknowledge him. Luna broke away in due time and Harry moved toward him. 

Harry Potter looked the same as he always had, and altogether different.

“Severus Snape,” he said, an odd look on his face which Severus would categorise as a smile if forced to name it. He extended a hand as he approached Severus, and Severus grasped it.

“Harry Potter.”

And for some reason, they both chuckled.

Harry was staring at him, very obviously – and unabashedly – taking in the changes. 

“Coffee shop?” he said after a moment. “Nearby, then?”

“Perks of London,” Severus supplied. “A few blocks over.”

“Right. I’m new here – worth checking out, then?”

Severus nodded. “I’m fond of their Brazilian blend.”

Something in Harry’s eyes, a spark of understanding, perhaps, told Severus that Harry Potter might know where he’d spent those years after the war.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Harry said. “And thanks for helping Luna find me.” He backed up a few steps. “Come in – take a look. It’s not very big, but I don’t need a lot of space.” His gaze rested on Severus again, pausing at the black-painted nails, but moving on without comment.

Harry ducked around the corner, and they followed him into a small studio. It was a jumble of furniture and boxes now, all pushed up against the far wall. 

“It’s perfect, Harry.” Luna held her arms out and spun around in the center of the floor, her skirt billowing out around her. “Not too big and not too small – it’s only you here, after all, and you wouldn’t want too much empty space.”

It might seem a curious thing for someone to say, but everything she said could arguably fit in that bucket. Severus eyed the furniture, trying to put together exactly what it was that Potter planned to do with the place.

“Therapeutic massage,” Harry said, answering his unasked question. He pointed to a table top leaning against a wall. “I work by referral – mostly with trauma sufferers.”

“Muggles,” Severus said, unnecessarily. They were in Muggle London, after all, not on Diagon Alley.

“Mostly.” Harry shrugged, but didn’t seem otherwise affected by the comment. “Well, you know my secret,” he continued as he helped Luna set up a folding table and lifted a box on it. “How are you keeping busy these days?”

The remark was casual, and perfectly natural given the direction of the conversation, but Severus heard something that perhaps he wasn’t meant to hear – a sort of quiet intensity. As if Harry had to work to make the question sound casual. He was interested. Truly interested to know.

Severus was working his way around the room, noting wall hangings and curtains, lamps and tables and chairs and components of a sound system, boxes of oils and towels and sheets. “Mostly potions,” he answered quietly as he examined a curious fountain made of stone fragments. He knew their origin without touching them so familiar was their magic. They’d come from Hogwarts – certainly from the rubble after the Final Battle. “Though I have a spot in a London shop as well.”

“Oh?” He’d caught Harry’s interest with that nugget. “Potions there, too?” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

“In a manner of speaking,” Severus answered. He saw that Luna was watching them, not hiding her interest as she worked on setting up an end table. She was screwing a leg in while the other three legs bobbed in the air before her. He thought that a very curious use of magic. “Herbal therapy – specific combinations of herbs sprinkled over steaming water and the vapors inhaled for therapeutic effect.” He dug into his pocket for his wallet and handed Harry a card. “The shop is called Health in Hand – it’s on the next block, actually, opposite side of the street.”

Harry took the card and examined it for a long moment, then glanced at Severus again. He looked hesitant, and Severus guessed his thoughts.

“I use only natural ingredients,” he clarified. “While my mixtures are modeled on potions, there’s nothing magical about them.”

“Right.” Harry extracted his own wallet and tucked the card inside. “I’d like to stop by sometime. Would you mind - now that you’ve seen what I’m up to?”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Luna breathed, rather quietly, now balancing two legs in the air as she secured the second one in place. “London is such a big place, Harry, and you two are practically neighbors now. It’s good to have old friends in new places.”

_Old friends in new places._

It was an odd sentiment, and not precisely true as he and Harry Potter had never been friends. But friends or not, they were veterans of the same war, and both moving about comfortably in the Muggle world while keeping a place in the magical one as well.

He didn’t find it odd at all that both of them worked in the healing arts. What else would a broken man do?

“I’m there for consultations Fridays and Saturdays,” Severus said, “though you can drop by any time to see my wares– a dozen or more of us have space in the shop.”

“Thanks – I’ll do that.” Harry looked back at Luna, who was cheerily attaching a third leg while the last one bobbed about above her head.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” Severus said. “I’ve work of my own to tackle.”

“Right – of course. And thanks again – Severus.” He smiled, as if trying out the name gave him pleasure Severus would never have been able to fathom all those years ago.

He understood it now, and he thought about it as he retraced his steps and returned to the coffee shop where Luna Lovegood had found him. Names could wield power, and fear. They could be used as weapons. But when wielded honestly, and properly, they were gifts between friends. 

He’d been in Brazil nearly a year before his people had revealed to him the name of their tribe.

As he settled back in with a fresh cup of Brazilian Santos, he allowed himself a few moments to commit the experience to memory. Harry Potter, barefoot, comfortably at ease in Thai fisherman trousers and a plain blue t-shirt, looking him in the eye and addressing him as Severus. His demeanor was so different that Severus had to remind himself that the Harry Potter who’d defeated Voldemort was a child pulled tight at both ends by dueling puppet masters, his childhood sacrificed for the greater good. 

Harry’s eyes hadn’t changed, though he’d not been wearing glasses. He was familiar enough from the occasional photo that ran in _The Prophet_ but alien as well, as far from the gaunt seventeen-year old as Severus today, with beads and feathers and dark Muggle clothes and black painted nails, was from the man who’d nearly bled out in the Shrieking Shack.

Harry Potter hadn’t disappeared from Britain for four years to heal and begin his metamorphosis. But changed he was and Severus couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, had sparked it.

What had Lovegood said? _You might like his friends – they’re queer like us._

Well, he liked one of those friends, anyway. Luna Lovegood was perhaps the most genuine person he’d come across in Great Britain in a decade. A genuine, honest heart and sharp perception behind a dreamy, far-away gaze.

It didn’t do to chase possibilities when answers could more easily be had. He’d wait for Potter to visit but if he didn’t, and if Severus still felt the least bit curious about him after getting back to the business of life for a week and churning out another big batch of Wolfsbane, he’d pay another visit to Potter’s studio.


	2. Chapter 2

The weekend crowd was beginning to thin when Severus started to close up shop on Saturday afternoon. He’d done a brisk business, with mostly repeat customers coming back for more supplies, and was kneeling on the floor behind one of the displays, counting remaining inventory, when Harry Potter’s voice greeted him.

“I’m late,” Harry said. “Would you prefer I come back next weekend instead?”

Severus glanced up and shook his head.

“No – I could use some help, though.” He stood and opened the gate to invite Harry back behind the displays. “I’ll save my knees and let you count for me.”

It was a completely mundane task, and really didn’t take that much time to do alone, but Harry obliged and took Severus’ place.

“Start with the Energy Essence – it’s marked with the double E – there on the left.”

Harry glanced back at Severus a moment. “What exactly am I doing?” he asked, half-smiling.

“Counting. How many pouches are left?”

“Four,” answered Harry. “Is that good or bad?”

“Well, as I started with sixteen, and they sell for six pounds each, I’d say good,” answered Severus. He moved his pencil to the next item. “Test Prep next – there beside the Energy Essence – it looks greenish.”

“Ten left,” Harry said after a moment. “Well, it is summer…”

Severus laughed. “Morning Regret?”

“Only two of those.”

“I sold out last week so I brought extra. The last one is Cluster Fuck.”

Harry jerked his head up.

“For migraines,” Severus explained. “One of my clients gave it that moniker and it stuck.”

“Ah.” Harry rubbed his head unconsciously. “Good one. Six left.” He stood, still holding one of the bags, which he raised to the light to examine. 

“You suffer from migraines?” asked Severus as he opened the cash drawer and began a quick tally.

“Yeah – sometimes.” Potter leaned back against the counter and watched Severus count, but didn’t elaborate.

Severus finished counting, jotted down the total, then moved the day’s take to a zippered pouch which he tucked into a hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket. “I expect then that you’ve tried both Muggle and magical remedies and dislike the after-effects of both.”

Harry nodded. “They take the edge off but the Muggle drugs leave me useless the rest of the day.” He lowered his voice as a couple of women walked by. One of them greeted Severus by name. “And the pain potions – well, they’d be the miracle cure if they weren’t so – “

“Addictive,” Severus finished quietly.

“After a few months on them, I couldn’t tolerate any pain at all. I had to have a potion.”

Severus nodded and pulled a stool over for Harry. “Sit – humour me for a moment.”

He opened a notebook and, assessing Harry, jotted down a few notes.

“More like 5’ 8”,” Harry corrected with a laugh. “But yeah – twelve stone’s good.”

“How often do you get migraines, and what’s their average duration?”

“If I don’t take anything – they can last an entire day or more. I get them at least once a month. That hasn’t changed much, but they last a bit longer than they used to.”

Severus did some quick calculations then pulled an instruction sheet out from a drawer beneath the till. “Two teaspoons in eight cups of steaming water – pour the water in a porcelain or metal bowl, drop in the herbs – just let them float - then cover your head with a towel and drape it down over the bowl. Five minutes of regular breathing if you can manage it – you can repeat every two hours as needed.” He handed the paper to Harry who glanced from it to Severus then back at the instructions again. “It’s a bit of work, but no after-effects. Rest, dark and quiet. You know the routine, I’m sure.”

He dropped the packet Harry had been holding into a canvas bag and handed it to him. “Come, let me show you around.”

“This was kind of you,” Harry said, shouldering the bag as he followed Severus to the next stall where a woman sold herbal teas promoting mood alternations. “I’ll let you know how it works.”

“You will,” Severus agreed. “It’s important that I know so I can adjust the formula – you may require more turmeric, or the aroma may be off-putting.”

Harry didn’t comment and they continued their way around the shop, which was one large, open room with a dozen stalls, each populated by a vendor selling health-related products and services. They stopped to browse the sample selection of a farm box co-op, then Harry picked up a brochure about light therapy for those suffering from the overly grey London skies.

“She doesn’t do much business in summer, so she just leaves brochures out,” Severus explained as Harry moved ahead to the shelter dog area in the middle of the room.

“Pet therapy,” he said, reaching down to let a skittery dog sniff his hand before running it down over the silky head. 

“They pair up with a service that trains support pets,” Severus said.

“It’s not at all what I imagined,” Harry said, looking around.

“You imagined sports drink additives and crystals?” Severus asked. The dog looked at him imploringly and he reached down and scratched its ears.

Harry grinned. “Yeah – pretty much. So thanks – for the education.”

“The owner screens all the vendors. She tested all my products before she leased space for me – even drank herself silly to give herself a hangover to see if my Morning Regret mixture was effective.”

They completed their circuit and Severus closed up his stall, tucking the consulting chair under the counter and closing and locking the doors that sealed off the supply shelves. While he worked, Harry studied the basin used to demonstrate the effectiveness of the products. Severus watched him trace a finger around the carved edges of the shallow stone bowl, knowing exactly what the man was thinking.

“I had it made,” he explained as he bundled three damp towels into a drawstring bag and unplugged the kettle. “To my specifications.”

“I’m not great with runes,” Harry said, tracing one with his forefinger and looking at Severus inquiringly.

Severus shook his head. “They’re not,” he said. “Not ours, anyway.”

He didn’t explain more, and Harry let it go. “This one looks a bit like a turtle,” he said. “And this one a leaf. Oh – animals and plants, yeah?”

Severus nodded. The basin was too heavy to lift easily, but he picked up a wide, open-ended box made of a very dark, polished wood and covered the bowl with it.

“I’m finished here.” He crouched down behind the counter and tucked the towel bag inside his jacket, where it handily disappeared. He checked his watch. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

“Tea for me, but yes,” answered Harry. 

Conversation was sparse but not awkward as they walked together to the coffee shop. They waited at a corner for a traffic light with a heavily pierced man of Harry’s age who recognized Severus and struck up a conversation with him, seemingly out of the blue, about a Marvin Gaye record. They parted on the other side of the street after crossing and continued walking.

“Do you live around here?” Harry chanced after Severus nodded to another passerby who’d greeted him by name.

Severus shook his head. “I have rooms above the space I rent in Diagon Alley,” he explained. “I find it less complicated to live where I don’t have to mind my use of magic.”

“Oh.” Harry glanced at Severus again and seemed about to say something but didn’t.

“Go ahead,” Severus said as they turned onto the street where the coffee shop was located. “Speak your mind.”

Harry gave him another sidelong glance, grinning this time.

“You just look so _Muggle_ ,” he said. “I wouldn’t have placed you living above a shop in Diagon Alley is all.”

“This works well in both worlds,” Severus answered. “It’s comfortable.”

“It’s you.” Harry glanced at Severus’ hands. “I like the varnish. I saw it on your counter – you make it, don’t you?”

“I do.” They’d reached the coffee shop and Severus pushed open the door and stood against it while Harry entered. “And now that you know all there is to know about me, maybe you can tell me a bit about what you’ve been up to these past years.”

“What? You don’t take _The Prophet_?” 

“What you’ve been up to other than enjoying ice cream at Fortescue’s,” Severus clarified. 

They ordered their drinks and made their way to a booth at the window, settling in. A woman passing rapped on the window lightly and waved to Severus and he nodded as she smiled and went on her way.

“Velma Wills – she works in one of my favorite record stores. I – I also collect and resell vinyl records.”

“Ah. Nice.” Harry smiled across the table at him. “I can see that – that you’d like vinyl.”

“So you know even more about what I do now. What keeps you busy these days – besides eating ice cream and your massage business?”

Harry seemed to consider a moment before speaking. “Well, if I was married and had a family, you’d know it, so that’s one more obvious path I haven’t taken.”

“One more?” Severus looked across at Harry as he spoke, not letting on that he was already aware of the others. For his part, Harry appeared perfectly at ease.

“Oh, didn’t go back for my last year, didn’t become an Auror, didn’t try out for professional Quidditch.” He smiled, almost nostalgically. “Though I’d have enjoyed that, I think – playing Quidditch. Except for the spotlight, anyway. We still play pick-up games at the Burrow.” He took a sip of tea and closed his eyes. “This is good.”

Severus nodded in agreement.

“What was it you ordered? Something Brazilian?”

“Santos – a popular Brazilian coffee.” He sipped in silence for another moment or two. “Or Hogwarts,” he said.

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not working there – didn’t go back as Defense professor. Or Quidditch coach.”

“Yeah – not that either,” Harry conceded, without elaborating. “So – what do I do, then?” He glanced up at Severus and must have been encouraged by his expression, so he ploughed forward. “So, I help people, mostly.” He laughed, seemingly at himself. “Right – lots of people help other people. In the wizarding world, I help Muggle-borns mostly, kids like me who don’t have any idea what they’re getting into when they get their Hogwarts letters. And here in the Muggle world, I work with victims of trauma. I’m part of a touch therapy team. I help them learn to accept touch again.”

Severus digested this information, taking his time to formulate his next question. “So you studied at a Muggle university? In London?”

“Edinburgh. I bounced around a bit before I settled there.” Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Had to sort through my own demons first, before I could be of much use to anyone else.”

Severus nodded. “You seem to have come out of that well enough.”

“Yeah – survivor here, right?” He gave Severus a look that made it abundantly clear that he placed them both in that group. “We all went different directions – I’m not the only one with one foot in both worlds, am I?”

Severus nodded in agreement. “Luna mentioned your friends – she used a particular phrase, in fact. She said they were _queer like us._ She seemed to think I might like them.”

Harry laughed. “God I love her,” he said. “I love all my friends – old and new – but she’s the one that I can count on to just tell it like it is.” He took another drink of tea, then went on. “Yeah – queer like us, eh?” He looked back down at his mug, seeming to contemplate the wisps of steam inexplicably still rising from it. “I don’t like to date Muggles – I don’t like to hide who I am – _what_ I am. But we have an odd little group that I’ve met here and there. Luna tucks in nicely. Yeah, mostly queer.” He paused a moment. “Like us.”

When Severus didn’t say anything, Harry added, softly. “Luna has a sense about these things.”

He had a hundred replies, and none at all. Ultimately, he changed the subject, and was the recipient of an odd glance from Harry for it.

“What exactly do you do to help Muggle-borns?”

“I advocate, and I put financial weight behind it,” Harry explained simply. “Some of it was relatively easy – like a curriculum change for first and second years at Hogwarts.”

Severus snorted. “A curriculum change was _easy_? I’d like to know what was difficult, then.”

Harry looked up at him, expression quite serious. “It’s easy to teach about culture and tradition, but it’s really, really difficult to change it inside the school. I’ve been funding the books, the outings, even the instructor’s salary for ten years. I definitely think the Muggle-borns do better faster, but the prejudice is still there.” 

“What you describe isn’t limited to the magical world,” Severus began.

“Oh God – don’t I know it,” Harry said. “I just thought it was a place where I could do something – make some difference. It’s relatively small, and you can work with the entire magical population as it passes through Hogwarts.”

They chatted for a half an hour more and, when they parted at the door, Harry invited Severus to stop by in a week or two and see the studio up and running.

“Have you ever had a massage?” he asked as they walked toward the underground station, where Severus would catch a train to Leicester Square.

“No, I haven’t. What led you to that particular career?”

Harry obviously saw the evasion for what it was and evaded in turn.

“That’s a story for another day – maybe I’ll try your Brazilian brew next time.”

“Next time,” Severus said by way of goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

Severus didn’t actually have a shop on Diagon Alley. He had rooms – a large room at street level where he stored his inventory, a cellar below where he did his brewing and stored his potions ingredients and three rooms above that served as living quarters. He had space – a couple of tables – at the consignment shop on the next block down, and he monitored sales there closely and restocked after hours.

He had a keen eye for Muggle items that appealed to witches and wizards so it wasn’t only old vinyl records that made their way to his space. If he saw something and couldn’t for the life of him determine what it was or what it did, a witch or wizard would snap it up in a heartbeat. 

He had a busy week ahead of him, as it was time to begin preparations for his monthly order of Wolfsbane. He’d been lucky enough to find help this year in Jeremy Trull, the apprentice at Slug & Jiggers he’d hired to assist him with the preparation. Trull was a Muggle-born and only a year out of Hogwarts and, while they never chatted unnecessarily while they worked, it seemed too golden an opportunity not to learn more about Harry’s Muggle-born efforts.

“Oh, the normal classes, I suppose,” Jeremy had answered while he stirred one of the cauldrons, eyes on the clock whose second hand swept slowly around as he spoke. “Traditions, Children’s Classics, The Founders, Friends and Familiars, Magical Transportation.” He lifted the stirring rod, counted slowly to ten, then resumed stirring in the opposite direction. He chuckled. “I liked those classes almost as much as Potions. I wish we could have had them for more than just the two years. They were the only classes where we weren’t with all our housemates.”

Curriculum change, indeed. 

By week’s end, the entire supply of Wolfsbane had been successfully prepared and delivered to the Ministry, most of it in stasis as the recipients would need to take it on several consecutive nights. Severus celebrated with a beer at the Leaky with Jeremy and hummed to himself as he walked home in the clear moonlight.

The night was indeed young.

An hour later, he slipped out again, moving quietly through the nearly deserted streets toward the Leaky Cauldron. He had no particular destination in mind – he frequented a handful of bars and small clubs, and he’d visit where the mood struck. He’d dressed to blend in almost anywhere – it wasn’t to be one of _those_ nights – the mood hadn’t struck yet for the dress he’d picked up at Oxfam last month – vaguely reminiscent of the wizarding attire he’d worn all those years at Hogwarts with buttons from neck to hem and a long skirt that made him feel as if he was gliding on a pillow of air beneath his feet. It was the darkest of violets, cinched at the waist, unadorned save for the buttons. He could have worn it on Diagon Alley at night and no one would have given him a second glance.

He had a drink at Sandy’s, a mere block away from the Leaky, letting the thrum of the seventies music he’d grown up with wipe the stress of the week away. He watched a group of men half his age take to the dance floor, and stayed for a second drink to watch them dance. He wasn’t in a mood to be alone so he headed to Checkers, an easy-to-overlook bar across the street from Health in Hand. Most everyone there knew him at least by sight and let him be if he was in the mood to observe and not socialise.

He’d been there only thirty minutes, sitting at the bar nursing a drink and listening to Billie on the stool beside him flirt with the bartender, when three men he didn’t recognise walked through the door, trailed by Harry Potter. They called Potter over to a table they’d scored, and one of them called back from the bar for his drink order.

The bar was small, but Harry wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings. His back was to Severus, and he leaned across the table talking with a tall blonde who was holding hands atop the table with the man beside him.

Harry pulled the blonde up to dance a few minutes later – the music tonight, courtesy of a passable sound system, was Jamaican Ska.

Damn it but Harry could dance.

It was at times like these that Severus ached to move. Had it been someone else – another couple, someone he saw there frequently, someone he knew in this world– he’d have gone up and joined them. They weren’t exactly dancing together, and they weren’t the only ones dancing, but he held back. He didn’t know this Harry Potter well enough to impose himself, and truth be told, he was enjoying watching.

Potter spotted him a couple songs later when he stepped up to the bar with one of his friends to order another drink. The friend had an air about him that made Severus think ex-military, though when he approached with Harry, Severus thought he’d been wrong.

“Severus – just saw you over here.” Harry gave Severus a once-over. “Is this one of your regular places?”

“It is,” Severus answered. “Conveniently close to work.”

“My thoughts too,” Harry replied. “Severus – this is my friend Evan.”

Evan extended a hand and Severus took it. “Evan.”

“Severus, pleased to meet you.”

Evan’s voice was soft and higher-pitched than he’d have expected. He glanced at Billie and raised an eyebrow.

Severus shook his head. “No, just me tonight.”

“Great – we’ve got an extra chair at our table – join us?”

“Come on, Severus – you should meet the others. Luna said you’d like them, right?”

“She’s never wrong, you know,” added Evan with a grin.

Severus picked up his drink and stood. “Lead the way,” he said, thinking that Potter’s friends were altogether too young, but he was itching to dance and it would be foolish to turn down the opportunity of a table of potential partners.

By the end of the evening, he had a healthy respect for Luna Lovegood who, indeed, was never wrong.

He liked these friends.

They weren’t as young as he’d thought, either. While Evan was younger than Harry, the other two were in their early forties and were, it turned out, a married couple named Rome and Toby.

“Rome is short for Romulus,” Harry explained after the introductions.

“No, I don’t have a brother named Remus,” the man said with an easy grin. 

“And Toby’s from Nigeria,” Harry continued without pause. “They met while he was biking through Europe.”

Severus soon discovered that they’d met Harry at the London zoo, in the herpetarium, where Rome worked and Harry, evidently, liked to spend time. Severus looked sidelong at Harry at this revelation, but Harry just gave him an amused look and a very slight shake of the head. They, too, loved Ska, and before long Severus was on the dance floor with Rome, then Toby, then both of them together. When they returned to the table with fresh drinks, Harry leaned across.

“You like to dance,” he said. He was obviously surprised. “You’re good at it.”

“I like the music,” Severus replied. “And it’s been a long week.”

“You’re probably good even when you don’t like the music or when the week flew by,” Harry countered. “Where did you learn?”

Severus shrugged. “Probably the same place you learned – places like this.”

Harry shook his head. “Hermione taught me,” he said. “Quite a while ago. We stole a bottle of wine one night – after Ron left – during our seventh year. Didn’t feel quite so awkward with a bit of alcohol.”

Severus, having had regular conversation with the portrait of former headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black, and having witnessed the spectacular and timely return of Ron Weasley, was well aware of what epoch Harry spoke. He imagined two teenagers lugging around a piece of Voldemort’s soul with them, drunk on cheap wine and dancing to the wizarding wireless in a tent in the Forest of Dean.

The others had been listening while Severus mused, and Toby spoke up, flashing him an encouraging smile.

“Go on, then, Severus. You’ve got one more in you, don’t you?”

Harry was already on his feet, and he held out a hand to Severus. 

Out of habit, Severus sighed. “Very well,” he said.

It was impossible not to feel the beat with Ska, and most anyone could move to the music, but Harry seemed to have a special knack for swinging his body without colliding with others on the dance floor and without looking completely ridiculous. Severus held his own, but he ‘d never get the flexibility and range of motion back in his neck or his left arm and shoulder that he’d had before Nagini had nearly bitten off his head. He thought Harry might have noticed this, given the way he was studying Severus as he danced, but if he had that on his mind, he didn’t voice the thought.

“I’m surprised you like this music,” Harry said, as the song ended and they moved off the floor. 

“I like a wide variety of music,” Severus answered. He didn’t try to explain how it reminded him of his time in the Amazon, or that it was influenced by all the other types of music he loved. Or that until the war was over, and he was back from Brazil, he’d had precious little time to think about what he liked and didn’t like.

He thought about the evening as he walked home an hour later, and it hit him as he pondered that he’d just spent an evening with Muggles named Evan, Toby and Romulus.

How odd – each of those names had such a clear association with someone in his life – Lily Evans. Tobias Snape. Remus Lupin. Is that what had caught Harry’s attention as well? And what the hell was Harry doing spending time in the London Zoo with snakes? His Parseltongue ability must certainly have vanished with the horcrux. 

Did he miss it, that gift from the Dark Lord?

He scoffed. Did he himself miss flying?

He allowed himself to think of it now, of the power to propel himself across the sky, free of the confines of gravity. The exhilarating freedom, the lightness of being almost vapor. 

No. He focused his mind on those years with his people in Brazil. On a different kind of freedom – feet planted firmly on the earth, eyes forward, the only voice in his head his own.


	4. Chapter 4

He powered through the next few days, treating his stiffening neck and shoulder with a muscle relaxant salve of his own creation. The combination of the Wolfsbane, which required precise and extensive stirring, and the relative inhibition on the dance floor on Saturday, had created this not uncommon setback. Surprisingly, on Friday he ran into Toby in one of his seldom-visited vinyl shops, and they chatted amiably and exchanged the titles of records they were hunting, each promising to be on the lookout for the other.

“I never asked how you and Harry know each other,” Toby said as they stood in the queue with their selections.

“I knew his parents – his mum was a childhood friend of mine.”

It was true – though not the whole truth – but he didn’t fabricate alternative realities these days.

Toby’s expression told Severus that he knew something of the tragedy of James and Lily Potter, and most likely, something of Harry’s childhood as well.

They parted outside the shop, and Severus contemplated the chance meeting with Luna Lovegood that led him to Harry Potter, the subsequent chance meeting at the bar on Saturday, and now this encounter with Toby.

Perhaps the universe was trying to tell him something. 

Perhaps he should listen.

He wasn’t far from Harry’s studio, so he changed direction and headed that way.

He wouldn’t name a higher power, though he believed it existed. But he would not anthropomorphise this power – a man-like god wasn’t dangling carrots before his nose or sending him dreams while he slept. But perhaps the universe had a plan, a way of shifting the pieces around so that the connections were better, the edges smoother and more tightly aligned.

And perhaps – just perhaps – the way Harry and Severus had left things all those years ago was somehow wanting. Perhaps closure was needed. Or perhaps – just perhaps – they had each grown to the point where they could build a friendship based on where they were now, _who_ they were now, and not on who they had been.

The blue shop door now sported a simple, professionally made sign that was obviously designed to not call attention to itself. Harry’s name – Harry J. Potter – and a phone number. There was nothing to indicate what Harry’s business was, nor his certifications, nor his hours of operation.

Severus opened the door – curious that it was unlocked – and found himself in a transformed waiting area. A door had been added to close off the corridor. There were three comfortable chairs, a low table with a scattering of magazines and a few coffee-table books, and most startlingly, gorgeous bird’s-eye photographs of the British countryside, including a view of a loch he knew all too well.

He couldn’t help but smile.

The chairs were empty and he glanced at the door, where a small sign instructed him to have a seat and someone would be with him soon.

He lowered himself into a chair, wondering if Harry was in the middle of an appointment and if another client would soon be coming in for the next slot. He scanned the room again, noting the unobtrusive camera mounted over a large Ficus tree in the corner of the room, and he settled in, realising that a door alarm or perhaps a charm would let Harry know that someone had come in and not left, and that he could scan the waiting room before he came out, and would lock the door to the street when he left the studio.

He waited a comfortable fifteen minutes, studying each of the photographs in turn. 

Odd, wasn’t it, that he’d just been thinking about flying. He closed his eyes, imagining, for a moment, the feeling of weightlessness as he soared over the loch.

He was startled from his thoughts by the door opening.

“Severus - I apologise – I was finishing up a video conference with one of my referring physicians.” 

“No need to apologise,” Severus said, getting to his feet. “I took a chance you might not be busy.”

“I’m not, really – my last client left nearly an hour ago and I was just tidying up.” Harry – barefoot again – held the door open. “Come on back.”

If Severus had been asked to describe the studio in a single word, he’d have said peaceful.

Low lighting, soft colours, sparse furnishings. Curtains divided the space into two treatment areas, each with a massage table and a comfortable chair similar to those in the waiting area. Towels and sheets were folded and stacked in low cubbies. Harry had a small desk tucked into a corner, and an iPad on a stand, which probably served music to the Bluetooth speakers in the treatment areas.

“I just opened on Monday,” Harry said. “I’m trying out this arrangement.”

Severus gestured toward the two tables. “Do you work with another therapist?”

Harry nodded. “Some of my clients need to know there’s someone else here, just outside,” he explained. “They don’t like to be alone in a room with anyone. Gayle comes in three days a week and I schedule them when she’s available.” Harry was moving around the room, tidying up. He stuffed sheets and towels into a duffel and cinched it until the linens seemed to have disappeared and the bag was no bigger than a Bludger, then dropped it into his pocket. He then shook out a clean sheet and stretched it over the table.

“Come on over here,” he said, voice quiet to match the atmosphere of the studio. “You’re holding your shoulder oddly. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing – not important,” Severus answered automatically. “Old injury – it flares up from time to time.”

Harry, however, didn’t back down. “I’m familiar with old injuries,” he said with a faint smile. “I’m sure I can help. I’d like to try, anyway. Do you mind being touched?”

It seemed such an odd question, posed to him in such a matter-of-fact way. _Do you mind being touched?_ Not a hint of anything sexual, but not clinical either.

“Do you want the long answer or the short one?” Severus asked, though he walked over toward Harry and stood at the opposite end of the table.

“That’s answer enough,” Harry said. “So a follow-up. Will it bother you if I touch your scars?”

Would it? 

Apparently not, because five minutes later, he was stretched out on his back on the massage table, fully clothed save his shoes, and Harry’s hands were tracing over the muscles where neck met shoulder, prodding very lightly, then gently moving his arm, bending it at the elbow, then carefully rotating his shoulder.

“Now the other,” he said, repeating his study on Severus’ right side. He didn’t make small talk, and Severus felt more relaxed than he’d believed he could feel under such scrutiny. The table was soft but supportive, the ambient temperature comfortable. Harry’s touch was confident and professional, 

“Your left side was probably already weaker before your injury. You’ve unfortunately learned to rely even more on your right, creating even more of an imbalance than the natural preference for one hand over the other. Your left side is noticeably weaker than your right, the muscles are tighter, as well. So yeah – I can help you work out the stiffness and increase flexibility – you’ll need to do strengthening exercises on your own. You don’t need to live with pain like that, Severus.”

Didn’t he? 

“It’s never been a priority, I suppose,” Severus admitted, because admitting that he was used to it, that he’d had much worse, sounded trite and dismissive.

“I’d suggest changing your priorities, then,” Harry said. “At least give this a chance – I think you’ll be surprised at how much it can change things in your life – like how well you sleep, how you walk, how long you can comfortably stand over a cauldron making figure eights.”

“I’ve been hoping to increase my figure-eight stamina.”

Harry smiled. “I’ve got some time now – why don’t you let me work on you properly for thirty minutes. If you like it – if it helps – we can do follow-ups at my place. I’ve got a small studio there for friends and family.”

Were they friends already, then?

Severus had never had a massage and didn’t really know what to expect. Harry draped a second sheet over the bed and asked Severus to strip to the waist and lie down on his stomach, covering up with the sheet. He left the room long enough for Severus to remove his shirt and jacket and get in place, then returned. The lights had lowered subtly, and he could just make out the music in the background – soft, peaceful music that reminded him a bit of the jungle at night and tried to lull him to sleep.

Harry told him what he was doing with each new movement or position. He concentrated on stretching and deep tissue massage, working out from the base of his neck. He knew exactly how much was enough and not too much, working each muscle just to the point where Severus was tempted to groan, or to ask him to stop, then moving on. The feeling was exquisite – balancing on the edge precisely between pain and pleasure. 

Harry broke form after a while and stopped telling him what he was doing and why.

“I’m glad you stopped by – I wanted to thank you for the migraine treatment. It helped more than anything else I’ve tried. I’m sold. Do you mind if I point Hermione your way? Her mum has horrible migraines and I know she’d try anything at this point.”

“I don’t mind, and thank you for asking,” Severus said, voice muffled by the table padding. 

Harry worked in silence for a few minutes more, finishing up and inviting Severus to take his time getting up and getting dressed again while he waited outside the curtained area. When Severus stepped out again, Harry handed him a business card. 

“My home address and mobile number,” he said. Severus glanced at the card – seeing that Harry lived in a flat not terribly far away. “You look more relaxed,” Harry noted. “Is it the brewing or the dancing that did it?” he asked with a smile. “I know I’m not going to get anywhere trying to convince you to give either one up, but changing some things about how you brew might … what?”

Severus, who’d been successfully – very successfully – brewing for more than thirty years, could not imagine changing a thing about how he went about doing it. The look on his face must have conveyed his incredulity, because Harry chuckled. “Alright – we can work on it. Would you at least be open to letting me observe you while you brew? Maybe with next month’s Wolfsbane?”

“I suppose – if you make yourself useful,” Severus agreed.

“Of course – I’ll be very useful doing a posture and stress analysis,” Harry said. “Look – I’ve got Luna scheduled next Thursday evening – could you come by for a follow-up after? Say 7:30?”

As he headed home, bidding goodbye to Harry at the tube station, he thought about Harry asking him if he could watch him brew. And not _just_ brew – brew the Wolfsbane potion.

Had he mentioned his Ministry contract to brew the Wolfsbane potion to Harry? Could it be common knowledge that he had the contract? More likely, Harry had Ministry contacts who’d told him. 

Still, he had a niggling suspicion that there was more at play here. 

Patience, he told himself, putting the matter aside and clearing his mind of suspicions. He’d learned to clear his head of expectations, of regrets. Behind him were the days of Occluding his mind before he went to sleep, of shielding it as he went about his business during the day. He remained just as alert as he’d always been, but no longer felt like a rabbit in the bushes hiding from the hawk.

The chance meetings with Harry Potter and his circle of friends didn’t abate, despite his acceptance of the universe’s nudges. On Saturday morning, he made an early visit to the resale shop to drop off the albums he’d purchased the day before, managing to slip out the door before the shop officially opened.

He didn’t expect to find anyone outside waiting for the shop to open– he rather enjoyed the anonymity of this enterprise – but he nodded to a woman waiting as he closed the door, making sure it locked behind him. He saw that she recognised him before he was able to put a name to the familiar face.

“Professor Snape?” She sounded tentative, as if she’d thought him dead after all these years.

Her hair had darkened considerably, but her face was still freckled. She was dressed in smart, well-fitting robes and was carrying a carrier bag similar to his own. She extended a hand. “Ginny Weasley.”

“Ah – Miss Weasley. Good morning.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “I didn’t know you were still in London. Do you work here?” She glanced inside the shop, an odd look on her face, as if she couldn’t quite sort out Severus Snape and a second-hand shop in her mind.

“I have a table here,” he answered. “It is not my principle line of business.”

“Oh – oh. Of course not.” She seemed to relax a bit. “I’m here for Mum – I check on the way to work every week for record albums for her.”

“Ah – they do have quite the selection here, don’t they?” he answered. “How are your parents, Miss Weasley?”

She was wearing a wedding ring, but she didn’t correct his use of her name.

“Good – really well, actually.”

“Give them my regards, if you would.” Behind them, the proprietress opened the shop door. “Good luck in your search.”

She smiled. “I will. It was nice seeing you.”

“Likewise.”

All in all, it was one of those overly polite conversations one has with someone from the past with whom one wasn’t ever close. But, given the circumstances of their acquaintance, it was far less awkward than it could have been. Still, he had an idea that he would no longer be an anonymous contributor to the wares sold at this particular shop. Ginny Weasley would most certainly mention where she’d seen Severus Snape.

The brushes with his Hogwarts past were far from over for the day.

Hermione Granger-Weasley – unlike her sister-in-law, Hermione did correct him when he addressed her as Ms. Granger – arrived at Health in Hand with her mother just after lunch. She handled herself effortlessly, was gracious but not effusive, and let her mother do most of the talking. She examined his small brochure while he heated water and sprinkled the herbal mixture onto the surface, then assisted her mother with the towel and the correct position to breathe in the vapors from her perch on the stool.

He straightened up to find Hermione’s eyes on him. “Are you working on anything else?” she asked. He could see the spark of interest in her eyes. “Dreamless Sleep, perhaps?”

“Draught of Peace before that,” he answered. “I’ve just begun the exploratory research.”

She nodded, then glanced at her mother. 

“Three more minutes, if you can tolerate it,” Severus said, touching the woman’s hand.

Her head bobbed.

“This is really quite brilliant,” Hermione said. “What percentage of your sales are from repeat customers?”

He should have expected an intelligent question from a woman such as Hermione Granger, but he was still somewhat taken aback by it. 

“A good portion,” he answered. “Two-thirds.”

“And your best seller?”

He nodded at her mother. “The pain relief mixture. They all move fairly well but that one has flown off the shelves lately.”

Severus touched Mrs Granger’s hand again. “Time,” he said. She sat up and he slid the towel off her head and offered her a warm flannel.

“I know you weren’t having a migraine, Mum, but how do you feel?” Hermione leaned in and inhaled, her eyes opening in surprise. “That’s actually pleasant,” she said.

“Oh, it was quite nice,” Mrs Granger said as she wiped the beaded perspiration off her face with the flannel. “I recognized the turmeric, and the lavender. Perhaps feverfew?”

Severus nodded – very few of his customers could name even three of the ingredients. He handed a small package to her and gave her the same instructions he’d given Harry. She moved to pick up her handbag, but he held up his hand. “The trial is free – if it works for you, come back and you can purchase what you need.”

Hermione nodded and her mother smiled brightly at him. “I love the feathers,” she said, nodding at the leather cord that hung from his shirt. “They’re unusual – not European, I’d guess.”

“She’s something of a bird enthusiast,” Hermione noted.

Severus fingered the cord reflexively. “The collared puffbird,” he began. “The caracara, the monklet, the hoatzin.”

“Curious choices for birds of the rainforest,” she noted. “Though they suit you.”

He nodded, surprised at the understanding in her eyes.

“She and Dad spent time in Australia – not exactly the rainforest, but their bird fascination grew from that trip,” Hermione explained.

She studied the feathers a moment longer, and for a moment he thought she might reach out and touch one, but instead she smiled and she and her mother gathered up their things.

“Would it be alright if Harry picks up our order next time?” she asked. “This is really out of the way for Mum but Harry is just around the corner.”

“That would be fine,” Severus said with a nod.

The remainder of the day passed quickly, and he packed up and headed home at four o’clock. He had trouble wresting his mind away from the curious influx of Harry Potter’s friends that had crossed his path the past few days, and after abandoning not one book but two, he opened his wardrobe door to find his dressing gown and settle down early.

But it was not to be an early evening.

The gown – the violet dress he’d purchased more than a month ago at Oxfam – seemed to call out to him as his fingers grazed over it. He pushed the hangers from the surrounding clothing sharply to the side and stared at it, then grazed his fingers over the fabric.

He didn’t indulge frequently, not from shame or embarrassment, but simply because the mood didn’t strike him often. But when it did strike, he always let it direct him, slipping over into his other side effortlessly. He took the time to shave his legs and face instead of using a shaving charm, pulled on a pair of silk knickers and a matching brassiere, padded to give him the suggestion of a feminine profile, and stepped into the dress. He did up the buttons one by one, bottom to top, then pulled on a pair of high-heeled black boots that hugged his calves and reached to his knees. He wore little in the way of makeup, only smoky eyes and a hint of rouge, and for jewelry had only his mother’s amethyst ring, the one luxury she’d allowed herself, the only one he recalled from his dreary childhood.

He covered the dress with a black cape and strode confidently, in the dark, down Diagon Alley toward the gateway into London.

The barkeep pushed his usual across to him as soon as he approached, and he nodded at the automatic offer to start a tab. He settled at a table not far from the bar, nursing his drink and watching the dance floor. A man ten years his junior approached, sized him up, and asked him to dance. He went willingly enough – he knew how to dance and appreciated a hard body against his own, and sometimes what came after. Illicit meetings in the loo, quick blow jobs, frottage with his cock hard in silk and lace. It was enough – it was more than enough to see him through until the next time.

He saw Zabini on the dance floor before Zabini saw him. Fetching – stunning, really – as a woman, every detail perfect. Passing in a way that told Severus this wasn’t the man’s second skin – it was his first, and he’d had to peel off the one she’d been born with to become what she truly was. They eyed each other without comment, and Severus thought that was the end of things, until Blaise dropped silently into the chair beside his own some time later, leaning in and quietly stating, “Merlin, Snape. Look at you.” Blaise’s voice was soft and melodic. Severus didn’t recall Blaise’s voice in her Hogwarts days, but knew it hadn’t sounded like this.

He lifted one shoulder and shrugged. “First time taking her out,” he said, indicating the dress with a casual gesture. 

Blaise nodded at his empty glass. “What are you having?”

“Let Eddie choose.” He indicated the barkeep with a nod and Blaise slid out of the chair and walked over to the bar. Severus watched several heads turn as she moved across the floor, and even Eddie leaned in deferentially as Blaise ordered.

“You’re not trying to pass,” Blaise said as she settled back in her chair across from Severus and slid his drink across the table. 

“No – I’m a man in a dress.” He picked up his drink and sipped. Gimlet. He eyed Eddie at the bar and shook his head. 

“And that’s what you want to be,” Blaise stated. She wrapped a manicured hand around the stem of her glass. “So, you have a table at _Leftovers_.”

Severus laughed. “Well, that little bit of non-news didn’t take long to spread.”

“My sister works with Ginny Weasley.” Blaise smiled at him, perfectly painted lips curving delicately. “At the _Prophet._ ”

“Ah. Naturally.” He nodded as another of the regulars – Sophie – waved to him as she passed. “I have several business ventures – that one is the most enjoyable and helps fund my – ” He hesitated a moment, then finished “ – wardrobe.”

Blaise smiled. “You should try the Oxfam shop near Regent’s Park. I think you might like their selection.”

“Noted.” Severus filed away the recommendation, eyes scanning the dance floor where his former dance partner was wrapped in another man’s embrace. “I read about you in the _Prophet_ last week,” he added casually.

“Right. Ridiculous that something like that makes the news, isn’t it?”

Severus shrugged. “Personally, I’m happy the papers are full of news that doesn’t involve former headmasters.” Blaise lifted her glass in a silent toast and Severus drank with her. “This is my third run-in with a former student today,” he said. “The entirety of my personal life has been compromised,” he said with a laugh that, despite the subject, didn’t seem bitter at all.

“Ginny Weasley and myself,” Blaise mused. “Who was the third?”

“Granger,” he answered neutrally. “And her mother.”

Blaise laughed but didn’t ask where he’d seen them. “Well, with your track record this week, you’ll be running into Potter next. Do you like ice cream?”

Severus chuckled. “The _Prophet_ must keep a photographer staked out at Fortescue’s.”

Blaise smiled. “Would it surprise you to know we’re friends – of a sort, at least?”

A month ago, Severus would have been astounded. Now, however, such a friendship didn’t seem so difficult to imagine. “Perhaps,” he answered, raising an eyebrow and waiting for her to go on. 

“I ran into him at a Muggle bar a few years ago. We – well, let’s just say we connected – or we tried to. The sex didn’t work out – he’s solidly gay – isn’t interested in women. The clothes were more of a turn-on for him, I think. But we got to know each other’s haunts. We both love to dance and he’s really good.”

“I know,” Severus said with a sly smile. “I ran into him last week at Checkers.”

Blaise gave an undignified snort. She gave Severus the once-over. “Like this?” he asked.

Severus shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“More’s the pity,” said Blaise. She sipped her drink, looking thoughtful. “He wouldn’t care, though. Might be right up his alley, in fact.”

“You’re impossible,” Severus said, keeping his voice neutral. He stood and held two fingers up as Eddie glanced their way. “Next round is on me.”

He made his way to the bar thinking that the universe – very definitely – was trying to tell him something.


	5. Chapter 5

On Monday, Severus visited the Oxfam store near Regent’s Park and immediately understood why Blaise had recommended it. It offered the sort of clothing a traditional wizard might purchase when attempting to dress as a Muggle. Old-fashioned in style, modest in cut, well- tailored and assembled. He spent an enjoyable hour in the store, most of it going through old vinyl record albums one by one, and while standing in the queue to check out, sorted through a rack of shirts, stopping at one that somehow reminded him of Harry. It was a soft tunic, the sort he might wear with loose scrubs as he worked over a client, reaching to lengthen a stretch.

Severus brushed his hand over the fabric. It wasn’t something he’d wear himself and he certainly wasn’t in a position to buy clothing for Harry Potter.

But the fact was that he _wanted_ to and that surprised him.

He didn’t buy clothing for others. He didn’t enter serious relationships. He’d fought hard for the independence he enjoyed, for full possession of his own free will and the right to make his own decisions. He couldn’t help but imagine that Harry Potter felt the same. They were the same distance from the war and neither had settled into a traditional relationship.

He managed to get through the next couple days without running into any of Harry’s friends, though he had a near miss on Wednesday as he sat in Perks of London after perusing a week’s helping of _The Daily Prophet._ There’d been another photo of Harry, this time alone, walking down Diagon Alley carrying a cage containing a small owl with unusual markings. He was wearing loose robes over Muggle jeans and walking at an unhurried pace on a nearly empty street.

When was it news that Harry Potter had bought an owl?

He’d meant to go back and read the article, but had been distracted by the appearance on the pavement outside the shop of George Weasley, instantly recognizable after all these years even without the telltale missing ear, and his mother, Molly.

They’d stopped to consult a folded map that George had extracted from a pocket. As Severus watched, George shook the tip of his wand from his sleeve onto his palm and touched it against the paper. A Muggle would never have seen it – would have had no reason to watch for it as Severus had.

They both looked up and studied the street, turning their heads to look both directions, then checked the map again. Molly pointed east and George pointed south. They conferred again, then George folded the map, tucked it into his pocket and took his mother’s arm. Though they didn’t blend in with the casual Muggle on the street, they didn’t look any more outlandish than Severus did. Their conspicuous lack of mobile phone to check directions was the biggest tell that they weren’t Muggle Londoners.

They went east, toward his shop, and toward Harry’s, and toward a thousand other London possibilities. They’d not looked through the window at him, hadn’t noticed him at all. 

Had wizards from his old life – from Harry Potter’s life – been popping up all around him for years and he just hadn’t noticed?

On Thursday, as agreed, he arrived at Harry’s London flat precisely at seven thirty. The building was ordinary enough, and the neighborhood quiet enough, close to the shops but certainly not a prime location. Still, Severus could easily see its appeal to Harry. By a quick count of windows, there were at least twelve units on each level, meaning that Harry was one of thirty-six tenants in the building, and his building was one of many on the block. There was a sense of anonymity someone like Harry might find attractive in this ordinary London neighborhood, even with its exorbitant London rents.

Harry’s place was certainly prime in the building, though. He had a rear corner flat on the lowest level. The interior of the building stood out as well. The finishings looked original and were impeccably maintained. The corridors were wider than most, the door numbers matched and were hung evenly, and everything from floors to windows looked remarkably clean and tastefully put together. Yet nothing was opulent, or blatantly expensive. To Severus, it seemed that the landlords cared about the building, and took care to keep things well-maintained.

He rapped on the door of number twelve and thought about Grimmauld place for the first time in years.

Not surprisingly, it was Luna Lovegood who opened the door.

“Hullo, Severus,” she greeted him. She was dressed in another flowy skirt and was wearing only one shoe and carrying the other. “Harry’s getting set up for you – he’ll be out in a minute.”

He had no idea what the protocol was when you met someone who’s just had a massage, so he just nodded and followed her through a small entryway into a comfortable sitting room. 

There was nothing overtly magical about the room, but Severus would have known it was a wizard’s no matter. The fireplace was a giveaway – far larger than most, Floo powder in its telltale canister on the mantel. The chairs and sofas were vaguely reminiscent of common room furniture at Hogwarts, though they certainly hadn’t been subjected to the abuse of generations of students. His eye was drawn to a painting of a castle hanging over the fireplace, and he studied it for a long moment, then glanced curiously at Luna.

“Do you like it?” she asked brightly. “I found it for him in a shop in Chelsea – Muggles love castles, you know.”

“It’s lovely.”

“It reminds me of Hogwarts.” 

Severus turned toward Harry, who’d entered the room with a towel over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you next week, Harry,” called Luna from the doorway. 

“Sure – thanks, Luna.”

“Goodbye, Severus. See you next week, then.”

She was gone before he could tell her he didn’t have a standing appointment with Harry, so he turned toward Harry.

Harry nodded toward the door through which he’d just entered. “You can go back now. I’ll give you five minutes to undress and get on the table – cover up with the sheet and start face down, if you don’t mind. There’s a rack for your clothes.

Severus nodded. “Will you just be working on my shoulder and neck again?”

Harry considered. “I’ve blocked out an hour,” he said. “I’ve got time for a whole-body massage if you’d like to give it a go.”

Severus nodded. Why not? He wasn’t ashamed of his scars, and body image was not one of the issues with which he struggled – Merlin knew he had no time to worry about things as petty as that with the struggles he had with his conscience. And Potter had been nothing but friendly and professional, though Severus knew they hadn’t quite passed out of a rather cautious reacquaintance stage at this point. No, they weren’t friends, but he could see the possibility, if either of them chose to pursue that course.

He moved through the doorway and found himself in a small study with a massage table set up in the middle of the room. The curtains were drawn over the window, and a single lamp emitted a soft light from a low-wattage bulb. He undressed methodically, as he always did, hanging each piece of clothing on the clothes tree, hesitating before removing his trousers, but finally stepping out of them and slipping onto the table under the top sheet. In for a penny, he thought. Might as well enjoy the experience.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, he found himself drinking herbal tea with Harry Potter in a cozy kitchen nook. He felt languid, nearly boneless, surprised that he hadn’t realised just how stiff and sore he was as he went about his daily life. 

“We didn’t discuss payment,” he said as Harry settled down into a chair across from him, setting a plate of cheese and crackers between them.

But Harry shook his head. “My friends don’t pay,” he said. “We help each other.”

“Friends,” Severus repeated. He nodded. “Alright. Friends it is. So what may I do for you in return?”

Harry laughed, a comfortable, easy laugh. “You’ve already given me the best migraine relief I’ve ever had.”

They drank their tea and talked as friends so often do – it seemed they had quite a few things to talk about that had nothing to do with their past lives at Hogwarts, and just as many that touched on the past in some not-uncomfortable way. And when Severus stood to leave some time later, he felt more relaxed than he had for months.

“You’re welcome to Floo from here,” Harry said. “It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the tube stop.”

Normally, Severus would insist on walking. Normally, he would use the time to clear his mind of the day’s events and fill it with the ambient sounds of London before preparing for bed. Normally, he would use the time to walk off the stresses of the day, to work out any tension that had built up. But tonight his mind was remarkably clear already, his body incredibly relaxed. If Potter had offered him a kip in his spare bedroom, he might have accepted the offer. But the offer was for the Floo, not for a stay-over.

“Thank you – I will,” he said. Harry flicked his wand toward the fireplace and green flames tinged with gold leapt up around the quiet logs. Severus took a handful of Floo powder and was about to toss it into the flames when Harry’s voice rose behind him.

“Severus – same time next week?”

He turned his head. Easily. Without even a twinge of pain.

“Yes – I – I would appreciate it.”

Harry smiled. “See you then,” he said as Severus tossed in the powder and stepped into the flames.

He fell asleep ten minutes after stepping out into his sitting room and if he dreamed at all that night, he didn’t recall them in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Severus had not turned his back on the magical world after the War and the time he spent in Brazil healing and remaking himself. He lived on Diagon Alley. He had a lucrative Ministry contract to produce Wolfsbane Potion. He used magic in his home – quite freely – and in his brewing. He read _The Prophet_ and potions journals. He saw a Healer, not a Muggle doctor. He carried his wand with him at all times. He greeted former students and colleagues with at least a polite nod if he passed them while out and about. 

He kept a low profile by not encouraging publicity, not attending Ministry functions and staying the hell away from Hogwarts.

Staying out of _The Daily Prophet_ had meant moving his social life largely to the Muggle world. The life he led was satisfying – he hadn’t been unhappy or unsettled _before_ becoming reacquainted with Potter so why the _hell_ did he feel that way now?

He’d been to Potter’s flat twice now, each time arriving as Luna Lovegood was preparing to leave. Harry took the time to give him a relaxing, whole-body massage before working on his troublesome neck and shoulder. He was already feeling the affects of the treatments with slightly increased range of motion. And after the massage, they’d visited – over the aromatic herbal tea Harry favoured.

Frankly, it was comfortable there – comfortable on the massage table as Harry systematically worked his muscle groups. Comfortable as he listened to Harry’s comments as he worked, made in a voice low and soft that blended with the background music. Comfortable as he sat on the table after Harry left the room so he could dress, rotating his shoulder without pain, smelling the vague herbal aroma of the light glaze of oil left on his body.

And comfortable afterward, as they sat in the kitchen with their tea. The second week, the conversation had taken a turn, and he found himself telling Harry that he’d run into Ginny Weasley in Diagon Alley.

“Really?” Harry looked thoughtful. “How – I mean, was – was she polite?”

“Yes. Very. Why? Would you expect her not to be?”

“Well – she didn’t like you much,” Harry answered. 

“You didn’t either,” Severus reminded him. “Nor did the majority of the students I taught.”

“True – but Ginny – well….” He trailed off, then laughed. “I may as well just say it. Ginny didn’t believe me when I told her I’m gay. She thought it was just a phase. But finally I told her – well – I told her that I was more attracted to you than to her.”

“You told her – you what?” Severus’s post-massage brain was just not capable of processing this new information.

“I told her I was more attracted to you than I was to her,” Harry repeated. He looked embarrassed. “I mean – I told her I was just trying to put her off, but she didn’t believe me. She truly believed I had a thing for you, and I wondered if she still – .”

“No.” Severus shook his head. “I didn’t see that – no real animosity toward me at all. She was surprised to see me, but respectful. Harry – that was years ago, surely. She’s married, right? Children? Don’t you two see each other at the Burrow?”

“Oh yeah – sure we do. She’s married to Luna’s wife’s son. Great guy. That’s how Luna and Zola met – at the wedding. They’ve got two kids – twin boys. She’s moved on, but every once in a while she’ll ask me about you. I always pretend that she’s joking and give her a ridiculous answer – that you’re off collecting potions ingredients in the Australian Outback, or off bottling fame and brewing glory at some Potions Academy in Belgium.”

“Interesting.” Severus sipped his cooling tea. “Well, she was perfectly cordial. But now I wonder if her surprise was mostly because she thought I was living in Belgium and didn’t expect to see me in Diagon Alley.”

“Severus, everyone knows you frequent Diagon Alley,” Harry said. “People see you all the time.”

Well, that was news to him. “I doubt that. I don’t recall the last time I saw you before Miss Lovegood presented me to you several weeks ago.”

“Likewise – but that’s because I spend very little time in Diagon Alley,” Harry answered. 

“But you knew I lived there….”

“No – I knew you worked there. I asked you where you lived last week, and you told me you lived there too. I had no idea until then. But plenty of people have told me they’ve seen you in Diagon Alley. You never stop to talk. You’re cordial when greeted but you continue on your way. You keep to yourself. You move with purpose. You don’t go on casual strolls.”

Severus’ surprise must have shown, and Harry chuckled. “Look, I know a lot of people. Sure – I keep to myself too, and I spend a lot of time in the Muggle world, but I haven’t abandoned my friends and family. They talk. They know – well, they link us together, in a way. Because of the war. Because of what happened.”

“I admit I thought they paid as little attention to me as I to them,” Severus said after a pause. Harry was watching him over the top of his mug. “I’ve only just –” He stopped, chuckling. “I’m seeing them all the time now – I thought the universe was trying to tell me something.”

“Seeing who?” asked Harry, perplexed.

“Your friends – my former students. In Hogsmeade. In London. This past week, your friend Hermione came to the shop. I saw George and Molly Weasley on the street outside the coffee shop. And I ran into Ginny Weasley and …Toby,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah, Toby told me – but you weren’t going to say Toby, were you?” Harry asked. He warmed his tea with a whispered charm and he looked openly at Severus.

“No,” admitted Severus. “I was gong to say Blaise Zabini.”

“Blaise,” repeated Harry. He gazed at Severus for a protracted moment. “Where did you run into Blaise?” he asked, voice more cautious than it had been.

“At a club,” Severus answered. “She said you’re friends – of a sort.”

Harry gave a small, disbelieving snort. “Of a sort? I know Blaise well enough to know that if she told you that much, she told you more.” He studied Severus’ face for a moment. “And if she shared that much with you, there’ll be a reason. A connection – perhaps? Because you were her head-of-house back in the day?”

“Perhaps,” Severus answered. 

“Well, to friends and former students, then,” Harry said, holding up his mug of tea and clicking it against Severus.’

They met one more time before Severus had to begin prepping for the monthly Wolfsbane brewing, and Harry reminded him that he wanted to watch his brewing technique as he began Severus’ massage by testing his flexibility.

“Do you seriously believe I can change my technique after nearly a half-century of brewing?” Severus asked

‘I think that you’ll want to after you spend a few days bent over a cauldron and erase all the good we’ve done these past few weeks,” Harry answered, voice mild. He began working out a knot at the juncture of neck and shoulder and Severus groaned. How had he gone his entire life without this experience?

“So – Sunday?”

“You’ve done your homework – you know when the full moon is this month _and_ how long it takes to prepare Wolfsbane,” Severus noted. “And yes, we start brewing Sunday but my assistant does most of the prep work the day before.”

“They might benefit from some posture correction as well,” suggested Harry, continuing to work. Severus was always surprised at the strength of his hands and his comfort and familiarity with human physiology. “Or do you prefer me to come when you’re alone?”

There was absolutely no reason to read anything into the words, but Severus puzzled over them as Harry continued to work. He really didn’t want to even consider changing anything about the way he brewed, but the idea of Harry there watching him work was – well, appealing. He’d spent quite a bit of time now in Harry’s home. Perhaps it would even things out to reverse the tables.

“I’ll be brewing the majority of Sunday and Monday,” he answered at last, as Harry eased off a diagonal stretch and moved to the other side of the table to reverse it. “Come when it’s convenient for you. Jeremy may or may not be there. He typically helps out the first day then returns to help bottle and then accompanies the delivery while I clean up.”

There was tea again after the massage, and Severus delivered a three-month supply of the migraine relief mixture, which he’d tweaked to help with light sensitivity. 

Harry accepted the package gratefully. “Hermione’s mum says you’re a miracle worker, Severus,” Harry said. “She’s asked Hermione if you’ve ever done poultices – she thinks she could sell them for you from her dental office – an alternative to some of the pain pills they prescribe.”

He’d considered the odd request as he prepared for bed that evening, languid and relaxed as always following an evening at Harry’s, and thought about the potential effects of a tea-bag full of medicinal herbs steeped in hot water than applied to a sore tooth or an irksome abscess on the gum. It was actually a brilliant idea – he made a mental note to contact Hermione Granger after this round of Wolfsbane was delivered.

For the next few days, he was as busy as he ever was this time of the month and he woke on Sunday morning after five hours of sleep with a painful crick in his neck. He downed a quick muscle relaxation potion, feeling a bit guilty as he did so. Somehow, it felt like the easy way out to rely on a potion so he could continue working, when the work itself was what was causing the discomfort. Still, he needed to get through the day, and if Harry wanted to observe his posture and technique, he doubted they’d be any different today than usual – potion or no potion.

Harry arrived at twenty minutes after nine o’clock. He held up a second Muggle coffee in a take-away cup as he settled on a stool on the other side of the workbench and Severus reached for it gratefully with his left hand as he continued stirring with his right.

“I’m going to have to come next month to see how you work without a muscle relaxing potion,” Harry commented after a few moments. Severus looked up but Harry looked vaguely amused. He grinned at Severus’ startled look. “That was a guess but you just gave yourself away. Keep at it – I’m just teasing. It’s actually better like this – I can observe your normal, unhindered technique this way. You won’t be wincing every time you turn your head.”

Once again, Severus looked up, mouth open to issue a retort – any retort – but nothing came out and Harry laughed. “Let me guess – you woke up after hardly any sleep, couldn’t move your neck or shoulder and took a muscle relaxant potion so you could finish today. Don’t look like that – I’ve been working on you for three weeks now. I know your problem areas. There’s no way you’ve managed to stand over a cauldron for two days straight and not tense up.”

“The potion is not addicitive,” Severus managed, even though Harry was obviously not accusing him of anything.

“Good – I think I knew that,” Harry said with a smile. He was watching Severus work as they talked and looking curiously around the basement lab. “This place reminds me of – ” He paused, looking at Severus. And Severus knew that somehow, Harry Potter knew – knew about Severus’ aversion to Hogwarts.

“Like your potions lab in the dungeons. Yes – I know. It’s well-ventilated, though, and there’s some safety to the rest of Diagon Alley to me working within such thick walls.”

“Of course.” Harry watched Severus a few minutes. A chime sounded, and Severus turned down the flame, covered the cauldron he’d been stirring, and moved to the one beside it and began stirring that one with a fresh stirring rod. He stirred for a few minutes in silence before Harry spoke again.

“The potion you took isn’t addictive, but it does nothing but alleviate the symptoms. Masks them – so you can continue working pain-free. You could try a few new techniques and reduce your need of those potions overall. I think you’d see benefits outside of the lab, too.”

Harry spoke softly but confidently, more matter-of-factly than in lecture mode. Severus had long ago learned that everyone he encountered had bits of wisdom he did not, no matter how hard it was to accept them from certain people. Harry, however, had already proven he knew his way around human physiology.

“Today you observe,” Severus said at last, eyes still on the steaming cauldron. “And you can tell me about it another time – Thursday, perhaps. In place of my usual massage.”

But Harry was shaking his head. Severus saw the movement from the corner of his eye but kept his gaze on the cauldron as the viscosity slowly, perfectly began to change. “What?”

“I’ll need to work with you while you’re brewing. It will have to be another night. How about Friday – maybe we could go to Checkers after?”

Severus gave a quiet snort. He glanced at the clock – six more minutes of stirring in the same counter-clockwise direction and he could move on to the next cauldron. 

“What? I thought you liked to dance? You do – you do like to dance.” 

“Whether I like to dance depends largely on the kind of week I’ve had,” Severus responded. 

But Harry was shaking his head. “No,” he said, and his voice was low so that it didn’t echo in this cellar room. “Whether you _need_ to dance.”

Severus raised his eyes and gazed at Harry. Harry held his eyes a long moment, then looked away and hopped down off the stool and moved over to the ingredients shelf, studying the jars on the top shelf. “Do you need help with anything? Are there any flobberworms to slice?”

Severus looked back down at the cauldron. He shook his head. “A different day, perhaps – when I’m actually brewing something that requires them.” He glanced up at Harry to gauge his reaction. Harry was grinning and rocking on his heels, studying the shelved jars. “If you want to be useful, tell me about this Muggle-born program at Hogwarts. My assistant is Muggle-born. He spoke highly of the classes he took his first two years there.”

Harry seemed surprised at the request – perhaps he thought Severus’ aversion to Hogwarts was to _all_ things Hogwarts, even things that had been instituted since the war. But he settled back onto his stool across from Severus readily enough.

“You’re not going to believe this, but we tested our home visitors on the Dursleys – had them knock on the door pretending to be collecting signatures to rezone some green space in their neighborhood. Appearances count to the Dursleys more than to anyone I’ve ever met.”

Severus had moved to the third cauldron and he stirred steadily as he shook his head. “Start at the beginning,” he said. “I have all the time in the world.”


	7. Chapter 7

By Thursday evening that week, Severus was so tired that he fell asleep on the table while Harry was working on him. 

“Hey – Severus. All finished.” He woke to Harry’s voice and his hand gently shaking his shoulder and groaned as he collected himself and sat up.

“Didn’t mean to do that,” he said, gathering the sheet over his lap as Harry wiped his hands on a towel.

“They never do,” Harry said. “In this business, we take it as a compliment, though.”

He left the room, closing the door behind him, and Severus dressed, feeling a little bit cheated even though the clock clearly indicated the hour had passed. Harry had the tea waiting for him in the kitchen when he emerged.

“Tomorrow, then?” he asked, handing Severus a mug and leading him out to the sitting room, where they settled on the sofa. “I finish up at four o’clock.”

“I’m not promising I’ll want to dance,” Severus responded.

“We’ll play it by ear, then,” said Harry. He looked comfortable, siting cross-legged in the corner of the sofa. “I can always meet my friends after if you’re not feeling it.”

Severus hummed, sipping the tea. It was another one of those nights where he’d gratefully stretch out on the sofa if Harry insisted he was too tired to make it home.

“You can stay, you know. People do sometimes,” Harry said then. “I keep spare bedclothes in the chest there and Merlin knows I have enough sheets around here. You can Floo home in the morning – no need to wait for me if I’m not up yet.”

“Stay?” Severus shook his head, even as he said it, looking over at Harry quizzically. 

Harry shrugged. “People do. After a late night – when they don’t have anyone waiting for them at home, or anywhere they have to be the next morning. Can’t tell you how many times Ron kipped on my sofa before he and Hermione got married.”

And as much as he would have liked to just close his eyes and drift off to sleep again, he’d Floo’d home a short time later, and convinced himself that he slept better in his own bed, and needed to get an early start to set up for the weekend crowd at Health in Hand so he’d be home in time to meet Harry by four thirty.

ooOOOoo

Gradually, he became accustomed to this new facet of his life.

He had new friends. Luna Lovegood and her wife, Zola. Toby and Rome. Harry Potter.

He had a new enterprise with Hermione Granger Weasley and her mother – natural, alternative pain relief and anti-inflammatories for dental maladies and procedures.

He’d introduced Aurora to Harry, and discovered, to his surprise, that she was already acquainted with Luna and Zola, a frequent visitor to their Hogsmeade shop. Harry, always surprising Severus with his easy comfort with people of all sorts, had readily taken to calling her by her first name and found common ground with her outside of their shared past, just as he had with Severus. Even Severus hadn’t known Aurora followed Muggle football.

His weekly massages continued, and Harry had convinced him to change a few basic things about how he brewed. Splitting his time between sitting and standing over the cauldron. Purchasing better stools with controls to adjust the heights. Distributing his weight more evenly when he stirred one-handed. And he felt better, which was surprising, as he hadn’t known he hadn’t felt his best, so accustomed he’d been to carrying the weight of his old injury with him through the years.

He had a ready-made dance partner most weekends, if he wanted one. Or, as Harry saw it, if he needed one. And yes – he did need to dance, and enjoyed the company when he had it. They were the sort that didn’t try to convince him to stay if he was ready to leave, who always greeted him in a way that made it clear they were glad to see him, and who never tried to force more drinks on him, or pull him to the dance floor if he was comfortable sitting at the bar working his way slowly through a pint.

One Thursday, over tea and a plate of cheese and fruit after his massage, Harry mentioned that he had plans with some Hogwarts friends that coming weekend. 

“I’ve got plenty to catch up on,” Severus had said in response. “I’m only a few days past the Wolfsbane prep for this month and I’ve got to take inventory and order supplies.”

They’d developed an ease with one another by this time, and tonight was one of those nights when the after-massage conversation lasted far longer than the massage itself. One of those nights where the conversation drifted to areas of their respective lives that they hadn’t discussed openly before.

When Severus had mentioned that he’d have to take inventory and re-order supplies for next month’s Wolfsbane Potion, Harry had replied that the price of aconite grown in the States had jumped as new regulations limited its distribution.

Severus had regarded him levelly.

“Following the world aconite market, are we?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry sighed. “Actually, yes,” he answered. He was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the sofa, as was his custom now, and he met Severus’ gaze. “I have a vested interest in it.”

“Because?” Severus couldn’t help but ask. He thought he knew the answer, and that it wasn’t that Harry had a friend that had been bitten by Greyback.

“Because I help fund it,” Harry answered, as if it were perfectly natural to be mentioning this fact for the first time several months into their newfound friendship. “My foundation reimburses the Ministry for the cost of ingredients.”

The quite exorbitant cost of the ingredients, thought Severus, wondering if Harry Potter would live in a more grandiose home if the cost of providing monthly Wolfsbane Potion to Britain’s werewolf population wasn’t draining his budget. If he’d dress differently, give up his Muggle job.

“I see.” He considered his words before he spoke again. “That’s a great deal of money,” he said at last. 

“It is,” agreed Harry. “Money I don’t need nearly as much as all the witches and wizards turned during the war need Wolfsbane.”

“You fund this.” It was increasingly difficult to maintain a calm, measured reaction. “You’ve paid for the ingredients for thousands of doses of Wolfsbane Potion over a dozen years.”

Harry nodded. “Like I said, I have more than I need. And I’d rather do something helpful with the money while I’m alive instead of leaving it all to my godchildren.”

“This – my contract with the Ministry – did you….?”

“They were paying an apothecary in Italy a king’s ransom before you popped up in Diagon Alley again,” Harry answered, easily anticipating Severus’ question. "When the contract was up the next summer, I suggested they bid it out this time – that there might be other apothecaries or Potions specialists capable of providing it at a more reasonable rate.”

“I saw it in the _Prophet_ ,” Severus murmured.

“I hoped you would,” Harry replied. “Didn’t want to be too obvious, but you might remember that Arthur Weasley stopped you in Diagon Alley and asked if you’d seen the advert.”

“I do – and I had.” 

He stared curiously at Harry as Harry sipped his tea.

“Was the selection process – ?”

“I wasn’t involved in the least,” Harry responded. “Truly. I was told that your pricing was competitive but your add-ons sold it. The price break for extended years, and your delivery system in particular. They also really liked your commitment to take on an assistant fresh-out of Hogwarts and keep them until they were established elsewhere. They’ve renewed the contract twice now, right?”

“Once – they extended it to ten years when it renewed.”

“So they’re happy with you and your product,” Harry said. He eyed the plate that had held cheese and grapes. “Are you hungry? I can make sandwiches.”

“No – I’m fine.” He placed his empty mug on the low table in front of the sofa and looked at Harry. The man didn’t seem to grasp the enormous scope of what he’d just told Severus, how much it affected him even though Harry himself hadn’t used his influence to get Severus the contract. Having that contract meant a dependable, regular source of monthly income. Income enough to pay his rent, buy supplies and food, even buy new clothes from time to time. But just as important, it left him with time and opportunity to branch out into other pursuits, to develop his Muggle enterprise, and to take time away from all of it to relax, to lose himself in a night of music and dancing in the anonymity of Muggle London.

“I should be going,” he said. “Enjoy your time with your friends this weekend.”

Harry got to his feet when Severus did and walked beside him as he made his customary way to the Floo.

“You’re upset,” Harry said as Severus lifted the lid from the Floo powder jar. “About that contract. I’m sorry it came up – it isn’t relevant, really. All I do is sign a check every month.”

Severus replaced the lid, hand still empty.

“All you _do_ ,” he corrected, “is provide for the comfort and safety of not only those affected by lycanthropy, but the population at large, Wizard and Muggle alike. All you _do_ is utilize your own resources for the betterment of society. All you _do_ is stay out of the limelight in the wizarding world, despite these efforts, as well as your efforts to help Muggle-borns transition into Wizarding life. These aren’t small things, Harry, and while I understand your reluctance to publicise them, I hope your friends – those in the Wizarding world at least– know your heart and what makes you tick.”

Harry had taken his outburst stoically, almost as if accustomed to such lectures.

“They know,” he said when it was clear Severus had finished and was waiting for a response. “We don’t talk about it much, but my friends know.” His careful countenance broke into a guarded smile. “And that’s why I brought it up, Severus. I wanted you to know – but it’s kind of hard to introduce it into a conversation naturally. When you brought up having to restock, I figured that was as close as I was going to get.”

“Except that you sat in my lab watching me brew it last month,” Severus noted.

“Well, we weren’t quite friends yet then, were we?” Harry answered. “We were heading there – but you hadn’t quite decided about me.”

“But now I have,” said Severus. It was less a question than he meant it to be.

“I hope so.”

They stared at each other longer than friends do until a smile, unbidden, lifted the corners of Severus’ mouth and Harry grinned, leaned in, and before Severus knew what was happening, enveloped him in a tight hug and released him just as quickly.

“I’ll see you next week – say hi to Toby and Rome if you see them this weekend.”

But Severus wouldn’t see Toby and Rome that weekend. He would, however, see Harry Potter.


	8. Chapter 8

Everyone fit in somewhere in London’s night life. No matter your preference – in dress, music, partner, gender, kink – London offered somewhere for everyone to land. The size of the city and the sheer number of establishments assured a certain anonymity as well, though that wasn’t important to everyone.

Severus’ favorite places were the out-of-the-way, hole-in-the-wall, everything goes kinds of establishments. Some might call them eclectic, but Severus preferred quirky. He could waltz, slink, skip, run, or somersault into Wayward wearing a Speedo, a clown costume, a ballgown, a bespoke suit or nothing at all and no one would pay him any more attention than if he walked in in jeans and a t-shirt. 

It was just that kind of place.

Severus didn’t venture this far away from home often. But he’d been restless all weekend and, after a long day at Health in Hand and three hours at home afterward staring at a book he apparently didn’t really want to read, he gave it up and opened his wardrobe doors.

He wasn’t accustomed to the restless feeling that had plagued him this weekend. He’d spent part of the past six weekends with Harry and his friends – sometimes just an hour or two for a drink on Friday after closing up shop, sometimes several hours of dancing and talking. He knew he could find Evan or Toby and Rome with little effort and be comfortable in their company.

He lifted a garment off a hook, where it had hung behind several shirts for months. 

He’d only worn it once before, had purchased it on a lark without even trying it on. Dark green and silky, the one-piece jumpsuit featured a halter top that tied at the neck, exposing most of his back. It was belted in black leather and the legs were wide, giving it the feel of a skirt. He’d uttered a quick depilatory charm before he could talk himself out of it, shed his customary clothing and stepped into the garment.

Severus was angular and bony. His back tapered from bony shoulder blades to bony hips. His lack of breasts heightened his angular, sinewy look. And his hair – undone and loose – covered a good portion of his bare back. 

He stared at himself in the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door.

It was going to be that kind of evening then. A _Wayward_ evening.

The club was crowded when he arrived, crowded enough that the dance floor was full, and he could wedge himself into the crowd and move with all the other bodies. There was no need of a partner on a Saturday night at Wayward – if you were able to press your way onto the floor, you’d have a dozen partners at a time. If you needed to unwind with the most unpretentious crowd in London who didn’t care a whit what anyone thought of them, you’d find kindred souls at Wayward. It was too much for Severus most weekends – too many people, too much noise, too intense and, frankly, too anonymous. But when the urge lifted him, when the stars aligned and he needed something more, to distance himself from the ordinary stresses of life, and especially whatever it was that had been mentally plaguing him of late, he always found what he needed at Wayward.

He bumped into a few people he recognised, and had a quick drink with a couple in their sixties – he’d caught their eyes but the connection turned out to be mostly aesthetic – and returned to the dance floor to meld with the crowd as the music – which could be absolutely anywhere in time and in the world on a Saturday night here – shifted to New Wave.

Two hours in, Severus seemed to have worked off the odd restlessness that had plagued him that weekend. He was considering winding down at Checker’s or Sandy’s– perhaps he’d see Toby and Rome there, have a drink to round off the night – and was beginning to slide between bodies toward the edge of the dance floor when a warm hand on his bare back startled him.

It certainly wasn’t unusual to be touched here, but this touch was purposeful, and somehow more intimate than the deliberate touch of someone trying to get his attention.

The crowd was less dense here, and he managed to turn as he stepped off, finding space enough for two among the bystanders watching the dancing.

He wasn’t expecting to find himself standing face to face with Harry Potter.

It should have been awkward. Horribly awkward. 

“Jesus Severus – this place. It’s great!” Harry leaned in, speaking close to Severus’ ear as one did when the music didn’t encourage conversation.

“Your first time, then?” asked Severus.

“Yeah – Blaise swore I’d love it. She’s already off with some bloke – left me alone to get acclimated. Well, that’s what _she_ said anyway.” He looked out at the floor, then back at Severus. “Join me?”

He _should_ have felt self-conscious, standing there on the edge of a crowded dance floor with his hair loose down his back, the jumpsuit with its halter top putting him a million miles away from any reality he’d shared with Harry Potter.

But Harry hadn’t commented on any of it. Hadn’t appeared to notice, in fact, though Severus rationally knew that he had. But it hadn’t put him off, and they pushed out into the crowd together.

Nearly an hour later, they scored a table as another group was leaving, and settled down a good distance from the music with a drink apiece.

“So you’re a regular here?” Harry asked, eyes scanning the interior with interest.

“No – I come here once or twice a year.” He pushed a strand of damp hair behind his ear. “When the mood strikes.”

Harry’s eyes widened a fraction, and he took in Severus’ appearance appreciatively.

“Blaise told me anything goes here.” He indicated his plain t-shirt and jeans. “But she said that my first time, I might not want to stand out too much so I can look around and see what I like.”

“Ah.” Severus let his eyes move over Harry’s chest, which was accentuated by the snug shirt. “Good advice.”

“I like that,” Harry said, nodding at Severus’ pantsuit. His gaze lingered on the vee the halter made over Severus’ flat and currently hairless chest, then he raised his eyes to Severus’. “Your hair looks great like that, too.”

Severus nodded. He hadn’t planned on revealing this part of himself to Harry or his new friends quite yet, but there was nothing for it, and Harry was obviously not at all bothered by the revelation. What Blaise had said that last time he’d seen her came to mind – something about Harry and how he’d react to seeing Severus in women’s clothing.

“Did Blaise tell you?” he asked, because suddenly it was important that he know.

“Tell me what?” Harry asked. His eyes had been fixed on Severus’ neck and shoulder, and he pulled them away, up to meet Severus’ face again. “You mean about – this? You?”

Severus nodded once, realising as his own gaze moved back to Harry, that whatever this was it was definitely pushing past friendship, and it was decidedly mutual.

“No – did she know? Really?” His eyes lit up with interest. “Did she know you came here?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

Severus shook his head. “Doubtful. I don’t come often and have never seen her here. We’ve run into each other a couple times – elsewhere.”

“But you – this isn’t like her.” Harry’s hands, which seemed to need something to do now, cupped around his drink. He didn’t seem to know how to talk about it, which seemed at odds with the Harry Severus had come to know these past two months.

“No, it’s not.” It was Severus’ turn now to wrap his hands around his own drink as he, too, looked for a way to acknowledge his secret and move back into the easy comfort they’d shared. It seemed like the obvious course of action – definitely the safest. “It’s an every once-in-a-while thing for me. I enjoy it – dressing like this from time to time. When the mood strikes.”

But it was Harry who was having the more difficult time of it now. “I’m glad I ran into you. Invite me along next time, eh?”

Severus inclined his head. “I never make plans in advance,” he said, watching Harry’s reaction. “When the mood strikes, I usually let it lead me.”

“I don’t need a lot of notice,” Harry returned. He downed the rest of his drink and stood, extending a hand to Severus. “Dance?” he asked.

This second round of dancing was not at all what the first had been.

They’d danced with the crowd the first time. But this time, they danced with each other. And when, after several numbers topped off by “Jammin’” by Bob Marley, the music ebbed and slowed, Harry, without asking leave, moved in closer and rested his hands on the small of Severus’ back. 

Severus allowed it - both the gesture, and the intent. 

There wasn’t a lot of space to move, so the dance was more rocking and turning than actually moving across the floor. But he wasn’t protesting – Harry’s was just exactly the kind of body Severus liked, though he hadn’t really noticed that before he was pressed up against it. He was lean but not skinny. Muscled in the arms and shoulders, doubtless from his work as a massage therapist. 

It occurred to him only once as they danced that this was not where he had meant to go, but unlooked-for opportunities were opportunities nonetheless, and who the hell was to say that this _wasn’t_ exactly what he’d been waiting for all these years?

“Coffee?” Severus found himself asking Harry as they moved sideways through the crowd. It seemed an odd request in the middle of a club such as this, but Harry readily agreed. He pulled a mobile from his pocket. “Let me text Blaise – I doubt she’s counting on me to stick around.”

Five minutes later they were outside, headed to an all-night diner Severus knew nearby. But he wanted to make something clear before they went any further past the comfortable friendship they’d begun to establish. “I don’t need to do this often,” he said to Harry as they walked side by side in front of the mostly closed shops. “If this is what you like, it isn’t something you’re likely to see frequently.”

“I do like it,” Harry answered. He was keeping a bit of distance between them now, away from the abandon of the club. Their shoulders were close, but not touching, and their hands remained at their sides. “You certainly surprised me, but it wouldn’t have meant much if it had been someone else in it.” He shrugged. “Look, I really can’t explain it. Blaise – a woman – is just a woman in a dress. It was intriguing when she was still – well, a man. But you, though….”

“Harry – ”

“I’m making a colossal mistake, aren’t I?” Harry looked at Severus frankly. “We get on so well – we can absolutely just keep being friends. I jumped into this too fast – didn’t I?”

In answer, Severus reached for Harry’s hand and squeezed it, then held it in his own as they continued walking.

“Oh,” said Harry, very quietly. And he threaded his fingers through Severus’, and wisely kept his mouth shut.


	9. Chapter 9

Oddly, it wasn’t until Thursday of the following week that Severus had his first “What the fuck do we think we’re doing?” moment.

Though honestly, he’d had the first when he’d said goodbye to Harry at the Leicester Square Underground station, and it was both awkward and hot as hell as Harry had pulled him against the wall and kissed him. Not a sweet kiss, and hardly a getting-to-know-you type of kiss, either. It was the kind of kiss, in fact, that was for starting off a night full of more – not for parting a moment later and heading back to your respective homes.

He thought about that kiss often as the week went by, so that by Thursday, when he arrived at Harry’s for his appointment, and Luna met him at the door as she always did, and it was so _normal_ with Harry busy changing the sheets on the massage table, and Luna still shoeless, and the flat smelling like Thai take-away, that he had that moment again.

What the _fuck_ was he doing throwing all this beautiful _normal_ out the window to explore something he simply never did?

A relationship.

But not ten minutes later Harry was bidding Luna goodbye and Severus was stripping and getting situated on the table, resting his face on the headrest and trying to relax as Harry’s footsteps approached. The door opened, and closed again, and Harry walked over to the table and nudged Severus on the shoulder.

Well, that was different.

He turned his head to find Harry crouched down so that his face was eye-level with Severus’ head.

“Business as usual is it?” Harry asked. His hand still rested on Severus’ shoulder, and his eyes showed his amusement.

The doubts dissipated as their eyes locked.

“Business first,” Severus answered after a long moment of silence when Harry’s gaze didn’t falter.

Nothing Harry did during the next hour was any different than what he’d done the previous weeks, yet the experience was entirely unique. Harry’s hands had glided over his back a half dozen times already, had worked the muscles of his glutes, his hamstrings, his quads. With his mind solidly focused on how professional Harry was as he worked, he’d never let it stray away into considering the experience anything but therapeutic and relaxing. It wasn’t until Harry had him turn over that the rigid control he’d exercised over his mind faltered, along with Harry’s smooth, practiced movements.

It was his chest – his now hairless chest – that tripped them up.

He wasn’t particularly hairy, but he’d gone from having a patch between his nipples and a light dusting across his chest to being nearly smooth. Harry’s hands moved over the light bristle as he worked his way up toward Severus’ neck and therapeutic moved dangerously close to erotic. Severus’ cock definitely thought so, at least. 

And it wasn’t just Severus. Harry faltered as well. Severus heard him swallow, then release a long breath.

“It’s just occurred to me,” Severus said softly, eyes still closed, as Harry seemed to regain control, both hands now working his left shoulder, “that you have seen considerably more of my body than I’ve seen of yours.”

“Comes with the territory,” Harry responded. “Count me lucky.”

“I could return the favour,” Severus added after a quiet moment spent enjoying the exquisite almost-pain of Harry working out the knots on that shoulder. “You could talk me through it. I at least have a working knowledge of anatomy.”

Another long exhale and Harry’s hands slid back down to his pectorals before moving to the right shoulder. 

“We may have to re-examine these massages until some of this sexual tension is resolved.” 

Severus groaned as Harry’s fingers worked another hot spot. “I’m guessing your professional code of ethics doesn’t allow you to use one for the other?”

“No,” answered Harry with the hint of a sigh. “No grey there for me – I can’t allow the line to blur, Severus.” He kept working as he spoke, and Severus remained quiet until he finished.

Severus sat on the edge of the table for several minutes before dressing. He was a stranger to serious, committed relationships, but he had a mental picture of what they were – and what they weren’t. What they _were_ was something very different than one-night stands and occasional casual meet-ups with physical gratification the only goal. And to maintain that difference, he’d thought, the focus had to be on the relationship itself and not jumping into bed. 

“You’re thinking too much.” Harry’s voice carried in from the door, then Harry himself appeared, leaning against the door frame and watching Severus as he sat, still wrapped in the sheet, on the side of the table.

Severus chuckled. “I do that.” He looked up at Harry and gave a rueful smile. “This is new for me,” he admitted. “And it seems much too easy to stray off course – to break one of those unwritten rules.”

“My only rule is that I don’t have physical relationships with my clients,” Harry clarified. “The profession demands it – it’s a hard no.” He stepped inside and removed Severus’ trousers from the hook on the wall and tossed them to him. “And I don’t want to blur the line by coming over there right now and crawling up on top of you and snogging you on that table.”

Severus caught the trousers one-handed and stared as Harry backed out, closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he _was_ over-thinking this.

When he appeared in the sitting room a few minutes later, fully dressed, Harry had the customary cheese plate already on the table. The tea mugs, however, had been replaced by wine glasses.

Severus raised an eyebrow as he settled on the sofa beside Harry, and Harry picked up both glasses and handed one to Severus.

“How was your week?” he asked. He sipped the wine and drew his feet up to sit in his usual cross-legged pose. “No – wait. Good, it was good. You weren’t as knotted up as usual, and you look like you’ve been sleeping well.”

Severus sipped his own wine and nodded. “I think you know me better than I know you.”

“Another unfair advantage.” Harry loaded a cracker with cheese. “And for the record, I had an interesting week. I broke up with an old boyfriend.”

Severus’ face remained set in a neutral expression. He reached for a cracker, slid a slice of cheese onto it, then raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Harry’s mouth twitched and he finally let go and laughed.

“You really aren’t like most blokes, are you?” he asked. His eyes were bright and warm, crinkling at the edges as he smiled.

“Apparently not,” said Severus levelly. “But I am wondering - how does one break up with an old boyfriend? Very carefully so as not to give him a coronary?”

“Not that kind of old and you already knew that,” Harry answered. “I should have said my last boyfriend – he’s a referee in the international Quidditch leagues. We were trying something long-distance but it wasn’t working. I haven’t seen him in nearly three months and I let him know I’m moving on.”

Severus wondered briefly if he should feel intimidated by a former boyfriend who was certainly much younger and most likely in much better shape, because what he was feeling wasn’t anything like intimidation. He was too focused on the “moving on” part of Harry’s comment.

“You must have high hopes for – us,” Severus said. “To give up on a Quidditch referee.”

“Well, he’s taken a couple Bludgers to the head. I thought I could do better.”

Severus really wished he knew what he was doing – Harry was so natural at this. At conversation. At teasing. At _flirting_. Confident, comfortable in his skin. And while Severus had made giant strides in these areas in most other aspects of his life, relationships such as this were new territory altogether. 

“Stop thinking about it.” Harry had scooted closer to Severus and set his wine glass on the table. “There aren’t any rules – we get to make them up as we go. I’ve got a string of relationships behind me that didn’t work, maybe because I tried to be anything but the Boy Who Lived.” He’d taken the wine glass out of Severus’ hand now and slid it onto the table beside his own. “Merlin, Severus – you’re the first wizard I’ve been attracted to who isn’t impressed by that part of my life. Who’s as happy as I am to close the door on those years and have new adventures. But – yeah. All of that while still getting who I am, and what made me want what I have now.” He swept his hand around the sitting room, and the ceiling light dimmed as the flames leapt up in the fireplace.

“Hmm. Impressive.” Severus had taken Harry’s advice and had stopped thinking. He wrapped his fingers around Harry’s wrist and tugged gently. Harry took the hint and scooted toward him, and to Severus’ surprise was soon in his lap, straddling him with knees pressed against the outside of his thighs. 

“Yeah – can’t let _that_ out either – they’d freak out at a bit of wandless magic.”

It was only then that Severus realised that aside from the time he'd lit the floo with his wand, he hadn’t seen Harry do magic of any kind since he’d been reintroduced to him. 

Well, tit for tat then.

The candles on the mantel sparked to life and the window shades lowered themselves.

“Show off,” murmured Harry, grinning as he kissed him.

He could easily grow accustomed to kissing, even as a prelude to nothing more. Harry kissed so deliberately – as if he’d spent months studying technique, and timing, memorising forms and subtle changes of pressure and contour. He’d have awarded Harry an automatic N.E.W.T. if he’d been sitting for his N.E.W.T. in kissing. 

“You’re not grading me – don’t even tell me you’re grading my kissing.”

Severus laughed into the kiss, and Harry broke away and laughed into Severus’ neck, shoulders shaking.

“You were! You were giving me an O, weren’t you Severus?”

“I was awarding you a N.E.W.T.,” admitted Severus, as Harry’s lips fastened on his neck and moved slowly down to his clavicle. Severus shuddered, dropping his head back and biting back a moan. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Potions,” Harry answered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “And Hermione tried to teach me to crochet - made a pair of mittens. I’ll show them to you some time.”

Severus chuckled as Harry leaned forward, giving his entire attention now to Severus’ lips. “Luna told me you were the one – that first day. She has a way of seeing through people, and you know what they say?”

“She’s never wrong.” Severus’ voice caught as Harry shifted in his lap. He tightened his hold around Harry’s waist and pulled him closer.

“She’s never wrong,” confirmed Harry, smiling into a kiss. “She’s absolutely never wrong.”


	10. Chapter 10

Severus soon learned that there was a lot he didn’t know about Harry Potter, and even more that he didn’t know about being in love. So much that Aurora had to tell him, six months later. He might have never recognized the feeling himself, even though he’d always thought he’d been head over heels in love with Lily Potter.

“No, that isn’t it at all,” Aurora told him over dinner at her place one Tuesday night. “Infatuation, perhaps? Admiration? Deity worship?”

Severus snorted, coughed, and reached for his water glass. He took a long drink, glaring at her over the rim of the glass. “Deity worship? Really, Aurora?”

“Yes, really. Look at it yourself, Severus. You were a teenager. She was your first and best friend. She represented all the things you wanted and didn’t have – couldn’t have. Light to your darkness, right? I’m not saying you didn’t love her because I know you did, with all your heart. But being in love with Lily Potter? I think not.”

“I don’t feel that way for Harry,” Severus said, frowning. 

“You don’t put him on a pedestal. He’s not some idyllic fantasy. He’s the real thing, Severus. What would it be like to end it?”

“End it? Why would I want to do that?” Severus asked.

“Humor me. If he owled you and told you it was over?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“You’re not helping, you know,” laughed Aurora. “What if one of his friends called right now and said he’d been in an accident? That he’d been rushed to the hospital?”

“Unthinkable. He’s a wizard – the chances of an accident doing him in are miniscule.”

“Fine, you stubborn old man.” Aurora reached across and grabbed Severus’ mobile, which rested on the table, face down, beside his plate. He made a grab for it but she had it in hand before he could reach it.

“Since we’ve been sitting here, that device has vibrated a half dozen times. You are stoically – and may I add most reluctantly – ignoring it. You arranged to meet me an hour earlier than usual – perhaps you have other plans this evening? And look at you – you look the same but utterly different, Severus. You’re – dare I say – happy? Look at you – you are. You _are_ happy!”

He’d stopped eating to stare at her as she spoke and hadn’t been able to hide the smile that worked its way onto his features.

“Are you saying I wasn’t happy before Harry?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes I am,” she answered. “You weren’t unhappy before – you were content. You had meaningful work, friends enough, and interesting pastimes. Life wasn’t dreary, or taxing, and I’d suggest it was even fulfilling. But before Harry, you didn’t keep your mobile on the table. I hardly knew you even carried one. You weren’t in such a hurry to leave after, either. Plus you didn’t shave before we met for dinner, and you didn’t take such pains with your hair. I swear it’s _shining_ , Severus! You wear it down much more often now, too.”

“While some of these things may be true, none of them indicate that I am in love,” Severus responded, going back to his meal with exaggerated gusto.

Aurora, experienced as she was with Severus, changed her approach.

“Well, perhaps you’re right, Severus. You haven’t had other serious relationships – you’re brand new to all of this. Just think – after Harry, you can look for someone closer to you in age, who shares more of your interests. It must be strange dating a former student – especially one as famous as – ”

“After Harry?” Severus interrupted. He placed his fork on his plate and regarded his friend crossly. “And why would I want to date someone my own age when I have a perfectly good relationship now? Do you have a feeble old Potions master picked out for me?”

“Well – not yet. I didn’t know you wanted one – I thought you were stuck on Harry. Really, Severus – he’s perfectly nice and all, but Harry Potter? For you?”

He stared at her for a very long time and she stared right back at him, thoughtfully eating a bite of her fish and taking her time chewing and swallowing it.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said at last. 

“Do you?” she asked, reaching for a piece of bread.

He smiled, a true smile for an old friend. “Thank you. You’ve made your point and yes, I’m a fool.”

“Glad you see it, too,” she said lightly. “Because anyone who’s stuck with you for six months is very likely ready to take the relationship to the logical next step.”

“Which is?” 

“Oh come now – don’t be daft.” Aurora laughed, then startled when the phone buzzed. Severus tried to grab it again but she held it away and swiped to open the text message that had just come in.

“I can’t hold the flat forever, Sev. You know you want it so get over yourself and just say yes already. Toby and Rome have been waiting for one to come up in this building, as you ALREADY KNOW and don’t understand why I haven’t given it to them.”

She finished reading the text aloud and glared at Severus. 

“The next logical step, Severus, is to move in together. Let those boys have the flat and move in with Harry. He has plenty of room, and you won’t be tramping up and down the stairs all the time to visit each other.”

“Your point is valid, except that Harry hasn’t asked me to move in. He’s offered me a vacant flat in his building, not a permanent spot in his flat.”

“Oh, Severus,” Aurora said, shaking her head at him. “He’s afraid of being too pushy all at once. He’s kept a prime flat open in that building just hoping to get you closer.”

“He waited nearly six months to tell me he owns the building,” Severus pointed out. “I have no idea what other secrets he’s keeping.”

Aurora shook her head. She leaned forward and took his hand and squeezed it fondly. “Stop it, Severus. Just – stop. You love him. You’re in love with him. And you’re standing on a cliff, at the very edge of safety and comfort and solid ground. One step forward and you’re somewhere you’ve never been before but guess what? That’s where it all is – the rest of your life, Severus. Take the plunge. Harry’s brilliant – you’ve waited all your life for this. Why the hell are you waiting any longer?”

Severus let out a long breath, then reached for the mobile. She held it away from him, looking at him imploringly.

“Alright - _you_ text him then. Say – Give the flat to Toby and Rome. I have other plans.”

Aurora narrowed her gaze. “Other plans? I hope you mean – ”

“If this doesn’t work out, consider yourself my roommate,” he said.

She grinned then opened the texting app and responded to Harry.

“You’re cruel,” she said as she handed the phone back to him. “Now get over there to see him before he gives you the dip in the Thames you deserve for teasing him like this.”

Severus stood. He dropped a handful of Muggle notes on the table and leaned down and kissed his friend’s cheek. 

“You are exactly what I needed tonight,” he murmured. “Keeping you in my life after Hogwarts was definitely one of my smarter moves.”

“You’d never have got rid of me,” she said. “Now get out of here – he’s not going to wait forever.”

ooOOOoo

Harry waited long enough.

Long enough for Severus to make it to his flat, to knock on the door and, when Harry wouldn’t open it for him, to shout his intentions through the closed door so that Harry – and most of his tenants – heard.

Long enough to yank Severus into the flat by the arm, and push him up against the door, and kiss him into tomorrow.

Long enough for some very agreeable lovemaking, interrupted midway through by Toby and Rome, who’d come to take a look at the flat on the off chance that Severus didn’t want it.

They celebrated with a night of dancing, with Luna twirling with Zola in a skirt of a hundred and one colours, and Toby and Rome teaching Harry to mambo, and Severus in tight jeans and a loose shirt and his hair loose down his back as he let go of the dead weight of accepted gender roles and allowed his silky lace-edged camisole to show beneath the half-open shirt.

And once they’d bridged that abyss, together was part of who they were.

Severus would never forget the first time Harry brought him to the Burrow.

It was a celebration of some sort – one Weasley or another was always having a birthday, or a baby, or going away, or coming home. Harry showed up with Severus in tow. Severus had brought a collection of old vinyl records for Molly, who stared at them in awe as Harry pulled Severus into the fray.

“You remember Severus,” he said to the crowd as conversation dwindled to a whisper and everyone turned to look at the newcomers. “From Hogwarts?”

Sometimes, Severus wondered if Harry had self-obliviated, removed the memories of his years at Hogwarts and their less-than-cordial past. They simply never came up. It was as if they were different people now, magical people hidden in plain sight among the Muggle trappings of London.

When the past did intrude, it was never quite as he’d have expected it would be.

He came home one Friday evening, a year after he’d started to call the flat with Harry home, to find Minerva McGonagall sitting on the living room sofa with a picked-over tea tray on the table before her.

“Hello, Severus,” she said as he hung up his coat, one cautious eye on her, and sat, at Harry’s bidding, in a chair facing the sofa. “Do you have this in red, by any chance?”

She was painting her fingernails with his varnish – a midnight black with a faint silver sparkle – and blowing on them one by one as she worked. He remembered having left the varnish out the night before, and he glanced at Harry, who looked thoroughly amused.

“Minerva came to tell me that they’re expanding the Muggle-born classes to third form,” he said. He sounded truly happy. He cleared his throat. “And for her massage.”

“A retirement gift,” she said, studying her nails. She glanced over at Harry and smiled. “And a very thoughtful one.”

“You’re retiring,” Severus said, surprised. “Harry didn’t tell me.”

“It would surprise me if Harry told anyone anything,” she said glancing at Harry, then focusing her sharp eyes back on Severus. “If Bill Weasley weren’t on staff at Hogwarts, my heart might not have taken the shock at finding you together here.”

“Well, we’ll be sure to thank Bill when we see him,” Harry said with a laugh. He helped Minerva up and she brandished the bottle of black varnish at him as Harry led her into the studio. “Red, Severus. Give we old ladies something to brighten up our lives in our dotage.”

At Christmas that first year in the flat, there were more gifts under the tree for him than he’d ever had.

He’d gone to bed that night in the pyjamas Harry had gifted him – though calling the silk shift pyjamas was indeed stretching things. Simple, black, elegant and soft as down, the fabric slipped between his fingers as he lifted the garment from its box. There were pyjama bottoms for Harry in the same fabric, and knickers to match the shift. 

“You’ll be the ruin of me,” he breathed out to Harry as they made love, Harry’s warm hand wrapped around both of them as he straddled Severus, the shift bunched up around his hips, the knickers pulled down beneath his bollocks. “I’m never taking this off.”

“Good,” muttered Harry, panting as he worked their cocks together, sliding his hand over the double girth, pulling and caressing until Severus was pushing up into his hand roughly, begging to come. “I could eat you alive in this.”

The roles they assumed so naturally in public, with Severus maintaining his own business, his own endeavors, an aloof but successful wizard who’d paid his dues and earned his peace, were tipped on their sides in the bedroom.

Here, Severus often let Harry lead, a willing participant in whatever his creative partner dreamed up. Mostly, Harry liked Severus to dress up – in soft leathers, or silks, or intricate straps and laces, or stockings and garters while he knelt between his legs and ran his hands lightly up the inside of Severus’ thighs before taking him in his mouth greedily, fingers gripping his arse, cheek against the soft silk of the knickers.

And while Harry vowed to keep his professional life separate from his personal, he did, on occasion, climb up on the table when he was working on Severus, stretched out over him with knees against hips, working Severus’ shoulders or pectorals with strong, nimble fingers. Lovemaking after such a session, back on the bed they shared, was the best kind of sex, a final dive to completion after an hour of delicious, tantalizing almost-foreplay. It was like floating in the sea, holding your breath while a tsunami built up inside you, letting yourself go at the end, a supernova of nerve endings and blessed oblivion as the world righted itself again.

Severus would not return to Hogwarts and Harry never asked him to go there with him, not once. As the program for helping to integrate Muggleborns into Wizarding society expanded into the third form, Harry met with the Hogwarts staff, worked out budgets with the Headmistress and the Board of Governors, and consulted with the team he’d help put together on the curriculum. Hogwarts represented very different things to the two men. Severus had stayed there precisely as long as he needed to. Long enough. Just exactly long enough.

But Harry would return to Brazil with Severus.

They would visit for two weeks, not four years. Just long enough for Harry to develop an appreciation for the people and place that gave Severus back his life, his purpose, his sense of self. To feel a different kind of magic in two weeks spent largely on his own, or with the people’s children as Severus worked quietly with his mentor. He learned their games, their sense of fair play, and their collective cooperation. He came away a different man in those two short weeks, with the seeds planted in his mind that would eventually lead to a needed revamping of the Hogwarts House system. 

He brought back gifts for his friends, gifts from the jungle floor and canopy of trees, and for Severus he and the children found a hundred new feathers. A bit brighter than the last, half a step away from the muted shades of his just-healed self all those years ago. 

Blaise Zabini would sidestep more firmly into their lives after an abusive relationship.

“You’ve stretched yourself too thin already, Harry,” Ron would tell him as Harry scrambled to find Blaise a safe place to stay. “She has a wand – she can defend herself against bastards like Ian.” He meant well. He was trying to look after his friend. 

“Never too thin that I can’t help someone being abused,” Harry answered. “And having a weapon available won’t make someone use it if they don’t see the abuse as abuse, or if they think they deserve to be treated that way, or if they love the arsehole and he says he’s sorry and they want to give him one more chance.”

Ron had sighed. “Alright then. Hermione and I have that little cottage out by Bill’s near Tinworth. It’s a bit far, but I know Hermione will agree to let her use it.”

And so it went.

Never time to be bored, but lots of time to relax. Never time to be lonely, but plenty of time to be alone. Old, comfortable friends and new enduring ones. 

And eventually, a wedding.

Low key and terribly unconventional. Magic buried in the day where their Muggle friends couldn’t see it, but perhaps – perhaps – could feel it. They had the sea in the background at the Tinworth cottage, and no one questioned how the fireworks reflecting over the dark waves took on the shapes of dragons and tropical birds, or that Luna seemed to rise a few inches over the sand as she spun in circles with her arms outstretched and her skirts flying, or why the shore was covered in colourful feathers when the darkness lifted at break of day.

Harry and Severus stood on the shore the next morning, and Harry dug his sea-blue toenails into the sand, and Severus picked up a brilliant red feather and slid it behind Harry’s ear.

Harry wore it there for the rest of the day then placed it on the windowsill above their kitchen sink in London when they returned. 

Severus thinks it’s from a Brazilian macaw, but Harry knows it’s the gift of the phoenix.

It doesn’t really matter, but it makes them each smile when they see it, and as bright and red and lovely as it is, it's not the only thing that colours their lives in happiness.

_Finis_


End file.
